


Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

by WatMcGregor



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:55:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 63,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatMcGregor/pseuds/WatMcGregor
Summary: AU Callum coming out story AKA the kitchen fitter story.This was originally posted as a multi-chapter fic, but then I deleted it because I thought I was leaving A03 - but it's back by popular demand in a big lump of unformatted words. Enjoy!
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 29
Kudos: 40





	Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered

ONE  
Callum taps the toe of his work-boot against the kickboard underneath the kitchen units they’ve managed to fit this morning. This corner of the kitchen’s beginning to look how it should but the rest of the room is still a hollowed-out shell. His voice echoes around the unfinished plasterboard walls and concrete floor.  
“Babe, I know,” he says, shifting his phone in his hand as he tips his head to concentrate on peeling a sticker off the newly fitted worktop. “What can I do? We’re a man down ‘til they recruit someone else. Me ‘n’ Stuart’re just gonna have to stay up here an extra day.”  
“But it’s Saturday tomorrow,” says Whitney, as if Callum’s not already realised that fact, her voice sounding whiney through the phone.  
Callum sighs. “I know, babe. I ain’t happy about it either, but what can we do? We’ve gotta get this last one finished; they’re sending us somewhere else from Monday.” He can hear Stuart’s voice coming from elsewhere in the house as he takes a call from head office. His brother’s words are muffled, but Callum can still hear that deferential tone he puts on when he’s talking to the bosses.  
“You need to find a better job,” says Whitney. “I don’t like you bein’ away all the time. It feels like I ain’t even got a boyfriend.”  
Callum gets where she’s coming from. Half the time it feels like he hasn’t got a girlfriend. The other half, it feels like he’s already married and constantly being nagged at. He bites back another sigh and tries for enthusiasm. “Just think of all the overtime I’ll be gettin’! Time and a half for a Saturday. We can put it towards the house deposit.”  
“S’pose so,” says Whitney, only sounding half-convinced. “You’d better not have to work next Saturday though. I’ve had that table booked for weeks. Make sure they know it’s our anniversary and you’ve gotta be back in Walford.”  
“I will babe, I will.” Callum can hear that Stuart’s wrapping up his own phone call. “Listen, babe, I’ve gotta go. I’ll phone you tonight and then I’ll see ya first thing Sunday, OK?”  
“Not tomorrow night?”  
“Nah, I reckon we’ll be gettin’ back quite late. I’ll text ya when I get home, and then come round and see ya first thing Sunday. Love ya.”  
“OK. Love ya.” Whitney blows a kiss at him down the phone. He does the same back, then hangs up and pockets his phone just as Stuart’s coming back into the kitchen.  
“Good news and bad news, bruv,” says Stuart, sounding like he’s bringing news of alien invasion, or world war three. Something more portentous than anything to do with kitchen fitting, in any case.  
Callum crosses to the flat packs of kitchen units in the far corner and starts thinking about how to put together the next frame. “Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah. They’ve found someone to replace Mac. We’ll be back to full strength from Monday.”  
“Great,” says Callum. “That’s great. No more workin’ overtime to get everythin’ done.”  
“Exactly,” says Stuart.  
“Let’s hope this one stays a bit longer than Mac, then,” adds Callum. Travelling all over the UK fitting kitchens in new housing developments, being away from home for weeks at a time, is not an easy life, and the Highway brothers have already had three different team members in the four years they’ve been doing it. Maybe if Callum hadn’t been working alongside Stuart, he’d have quit ages ago too, but it suits him for now, what with saving for a wedding and a house deposit. “What’s the bad news?” he asks.  
Stuart comes across and starts helping him to lift one of the packs into the corner where they’ll be fitting the next run of units. He gives him a grim look over the cardboard box. “The new bloke. It’s Ben Mitchell.”  
Callum frowns. It takes him a second to place him. Short bloke with permanent three-day stubble and a hard look to him. “What?” he says. “The bloke who runs the car lot on Albert Square?”  
“Not anymore,” says Stuart, breathing hard from the exertion of carrying the pack across the room. “He’s messed that up, so daddy’s taken it off him and told him to piss off and earn his own living. Apparently the car lot was on its last legs, about to go under before Phil Mitchell stepped in.” Stuart sucks in a breath and shakes his head. “He’s bad news, that ‘un. The whole family are.”  
“Why?” asks Callum. He was only in Walford for about a month after the army before picking up this job with Stuart, so he’s not particularly familiar with many of the people who live there.  
“Phil Mitchell’s like the Reggie Kray of modern-day Walford,” explains Stuart in a voice so laden with doom it makes Callum laugh.  
“Seriously?” he asks. “They still have gangsters in this day an’ age, do they?”  
“I’m tellin’ ya,” insists Stuart. “Most of those cars they was sellin’ on that car lot was nicked. And woe betides ya if you complained about it. They’d punch ya as soon as look at ya.” He helps Callum to lay the pack on the floor and then straightens up, wiping his hands on his overalls. “The whole family’s involved in dodgy dealin’s, and Ben Mitchell’s just a chip off the old block.”  
“Sounds like we’re gonna have to be careful around him then,” says Callum.  
“Nah.” Stuart puffs his chest out and puts his hands on his hips, feet wide apart. “He ain’t gonna have daddy lookin’ out for him anymore, is he? If he’s in my team, he follows my rules, and the sooner he realises that, the better.”  
Stuart may not be a modern gangster but he’s thrown his fair share of punches in his time, and Callum’s heart sinks. He’s all for a quiet life, and he does not look forward to Stuart Highway and Ben Mitchell conducting pissing contests to determine who’s the alpha male in this team.  
“Where they sendin’ us on Monday, anyway?” he asks, running his Stanley knife down the seam of the cardboard packaging to open it.  
“Somewhere just outside Wolverhampton,” supplies Stuart.  
“Great,” says Callum in a flat voice. “Another early start.”  
“Yep. We’re meetin’ up in the Square at 4.30am. Gotta be on-site for 8. So, make sure you get an early night Sunday, bruv.” Stuart throws Callum a leering grin. “Tell the lovely Whitney you need yer beauty sleep so she’ll have to make it sharpish if she wants a bunk-up.”  
Callum grimaces silently. He sets about taking the next unit out of its packaging, checking everything’s there before he starts putting it together.

There’s another couple of hours of darkness ahead of them when they meet in the Square at 4.30am that Monday morning. Callum huddles in his seat in the van, staring blindly at the strip of tarmac illuminated by the headlights and sipping slowly from a travel mug of coffee that Whit had made for him before he left hers. He guesses she’s back in bed for another hour, although she’s got a pretty early start to her day too, setting up her stall in the market and re-stocking it with the cheap fashion designs she gets wholesale over the internet from a supplier in China.  
Their time together over the weekend had been fleeting. He’d called round at nine on the Sunday morning with the washing he needed doing for the week ahead, and they’d spent a nerve-wracking hour in bed while it was going through its cycle. Nerve-wracking for him, anyhow. As Stuart would say, Callum is a late bloomer. He’s twenty-eight and Whitney’s his first proper girlfriend, and he’s still not sure he’s any good at you-know-what. She’s always encouraging, but he finds himself wondering sometimes if there should be more to it. Everyone always bangs on about sex so much, he’d thought it must be some kind of earth-shattering experience that would change him in ways he couldn’t even imagine. So far though, it’s just felt awkward and more trouble than it’s worth. He’s well aware he sometimes makes excuses for not doing it. He gets back late from work and doesn’t want to disturb Whit. Or he’s got an early start so he needs to get a good night’s sleep. Whitney never complains. She’s patient with him, but the fact remains that their sex life could be said to be in the doldrums right now. Whatever, they’ve been together a year and he’s hardly ever back in Walford anyhow. They can’t be at it like rabbits all the time.  
“Where the hell is he?” curses Stuart, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “I knew he’d be late.” He peers into his wing mirror, trying to see if Ben Mitchell is approaching from across the Square. “If we get caught up in the rush-hour traffic cos of ‘im I’ll swing for ‘im.”  
Callum grunts and wraps his hands around his coffee mug, trying to glean every last ounce of warmth from it. He’s not exactly a morning person.  
“You get lucky last night then?” asks Stuart with a sideways glance at him. Stuart is definitely a morning person. He’s an evening person, too. In fact, Callum’s never known a time when Stuart’s off-button has ever been activated.  
Stuart digs his elbow into Callum’s ribs when he doesn’t get an answer. “Eh? Eh? You get lucky with the lovely Miss Whitney Dean, bruv?”  
“Shut up!” mutters Callum, wriggling out of reach of his elbows and ending up squashed against the passenger door, trying not to spill his coffee in the process. “I ain’t askin’ you about Rainie, am I?”  
“You could do though,” says Stuart. “You could show an interest, ya misery.”  
Callum throws him a look. “Why would I show an interest in your love life, Stu? I ain’t a pervert.”  
Stuart opens his mouth to reply, but his words are cut off by a sudden sharp banging on the side of the van and a voice shouting “Oi, oi!”  
The passenger door is pulled open, almost causing Callum to fall out and land at the feet of Ben Mitchell, who is standing there looking like he’d shove a horse’s head in your bed as soon as look at you. “Mornin’ ladies,” he announces in a loud voice. “Shove up, mate.” This last is addressed to Callum. He reaches in and grabs Callum’s coffee mug out of his hand. “Cheers, you shouldn’t have.”  
Callum watches gobsmacked as Ben takes a huge long sip of his coffee, swallows, and lets out an appreciative moan. God! That’s all he needs. Two loudmouths in the same van in the early hours of a Monday morning. He scoots across to the middle seat, and Ben climbs in beside him, his hold-all ending up on Callum’s lap.  
“Give us that,” says Stuart, grabbing the bag and getting out to throw it in the back of the van with their own bags and all the tools. As he heads to the back of the van he makes the introductions through the open door, his voice carrying across the Square and no doubt giving a few of the residents an early morning alarm call they weren’t expecting.  
“I’m Stuart Highway, and that lump of misery beside ya is my bro, Callum.”  
“I seen you about,” says Ben, waving the coffee mug in Callum’s direction, his hard blue eyes scrutinising him. “You go out with that Whitney bird?”  
“Yeah,” says Callum, shrinking into his seat.  
“Blimey,” says Ben.  
He doesn’t add to his comment, and Callum’s honestly too knackered to ask him to elaborate. He snatches back his coffee and as Stuart gets back in and begins to manoeuvre the van out of the Square, he hugs it to his chest, closes his eyes and tries to get a bit more shut-eye.  
“Fuck me, it’s early,” says Ben.  
Callum can’t find anything to disagree with so far.

TWO  
Callum’s woken up by the motion of the van changing. It’s daylight, the start of a drizzly, grey day. They’ve left the motorway and are now navigating through the outskirts of Wolverhampton, turning left and right and slowing at lights and roundabouts. He stretches, noticing that his coffee mug is, once more, no longer in his hands.  
“Mornin’ sleepin’ beauty,” says Ben.  
“Alright bruv?” asks Stuart. “You bin out like a light all the way here.” He nudges Callum in the ribs. “Whit wear you out last night, did she?”  
“Shut up,” says Callum weakly, still too tired to get annoyed.  
“They’ve only bin together a year,” Stuart tells Ben.  
“Ah, say no more,” says Ben. “Love’s young dream.”  
It seems the two of them have been bonding while Callum’s been asleep. He turns to Ben. “Did you nick my coffee?”  
“You was asleep,” says Ben, glaring at him. “You weren’t gonna drink it. I saved you from pourin’ it all down yer front.”  
“Very public-spirited,” says Callum drily. To his surprise, Ben’s face softens and he grins at him.  
“Lookin’ forward to yer first day of proper work?” asks Stuart.  
“Can’t wait, mate,” says Ben in a flat voice, looking past Callum to Stuart as the grin fades from his face.  
“You just do as you’re told, you’ll be alright,” says Stuart.  
“What, so you’re the team leader, are ya?” asks Ben, sounding like he wants to challenge Stuart. Callum groans inwardly. Looks like the pissing contest has begun, and he’s gonna make sure he stays well out of it.  
“In a manner of speaking,” says Stuart. “I’m the senior member of the team.”  
“Ooh, the senior member of the team,” says Ben in a sing-song voice. “I’d better watch me p’s and q’s then, hadn’t I?”  
Callum cringes.  
“Just do as I tell ya, you’ll soon pick it up,” says Stuart, oblivious to Ben’s attempt to wind him up.  
Ben snorts quietly. After a few seconds’ silence, he says, “So, I was readin’ me paperwork last night, and it said I was expected to share a hotel room.”  
“Correctamundo,” says Stuart. Callum’s surprised Ben doesn’t let out a snort of derision again. Who on earth still says that?  
“Right, so, that means two hotel rooms, yeah?”  
“Correcta -”  
“That’s right,” jumps in Callum.  
“And there’s three of us,” says Ben, gesturing between them all.  
“He cottons on quick, don’t he?” says Stuart to Callum, who’s beginning to wonder if he can travel in the back of the van in future, to leave the pair of them to it. He throws Stuart a look to say leave me out of this.  
“So, my point is this,” says Ben. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you two to share? You are brothers, after all.”  
Stuart chuckles. “You ain’t getting’ a room to yerself, mate.”  
“So who gets their own room then?”  
“Well, as the team - ”  
Ben holds up a hand, nearly hitting Callum on the nose in the process. “No, don’t tell me…As the team leader, you’ve decided you get the room on yer own.”  
“You’ve got it,” says Stuart in a cheerful voice, as if he’s glad they’re all on the same page.  
“Lot of perks to being an unelected team leader, ain’t there?” asks Ben rhetorically.  
Callum has to admit he can never remember when the decision was made that Stuart would get the room to himself. Callum’s always had to share with the third member of the team, whether that was Mac with his smelly feet, or Ron before him with his flatulence problem. He tries to decide if sharing with a member of the Walford Mafia without any noticeable hygiene problems is better or worse than those options.  
“Could be worse, I s’pose,” says Ben, giving Callum a gentle nudge to the ribs and a sly wink. Callum’s not sure what he means. He’s not going to ask him, for fear of unleashing world war three in the cab.

As they pull up at the housing development they’ll be working on for the next two weeks, Stuart curses. “How do they always get ‘ere before us?”  
Just inside the entrance to the site, three blokes are lounging against the side of their own van. A swarthy, well-built man who Callum knows from experience has adopted the Stuart-role in their team: unofficial team leader and receiver of perks. Alongside him are a taller, dark-haired man and a younger lad who looks a few sandwiches short of a picnic.  
As Ben, Callum and Stuart get out of their van, Ben stretching luxuriantly with an obscene amount of groaning, Callum heads over and greets the other fitting team.  
“Took yer time, didn’t ya?” asks the unofficial team leader, flicking the ash from his cigarette to his side.  
“Alright Tubbs?” asks Callum, clapping him on the arm. He nods at Martin Fowler and lifts a hand in greeting to Keanu, the younger lad. The two older men spend many an enjoyable evening when work’s finished for the day winding him up. Callum can still remember the week Keanu first joined when he wandered round for a good half hour asking if anyone knew where he could find a pot of elbow grease. In the end, Callum had been the one to take pity on him and put him right.  
Stuart wanders across to join them. “Which route did you come, then?” he asks accusingly, as if he somehow suspects Tubbs of cheating the system and driving as the crow flies.  
“Outta London on the ring road, mate,” says Tubbs. “I bet you come through the centre, didn’t ya?”  
“Well you start out in North London, don’t ya?” says Stuart. “Much easier route.”  
“I hear you had to stay on an extra day last week,” says Tubbs with a smirk. “Didn’t get everythin’ finished, did ya?”  
“We was a man down!” exclaims Stuart.  
Tubbs sucks at his teeth, turning to Martin Fowler to include him in his condemnation of what’s suddenly become the Bewitching Kitchens ‘B’ team. “Bosses won’t like that,” he says.  
“Nah, they won’t be happy at all,” agrees Martin Fowler. “Shellin’ out more money for hotel rooms. Eats into the profits, don’t it?”  
Callum notices that Ben has been standing to one side and watching the exchange with a faint smile on his face. Callum gets the impression he’s a quick study. He’s no doubt been sussing out the relationships and the dynamics. Now, he steps forward and makes a beeline for Tubbs, holding out a hand. “Ben Mitchell,” he announces, as if he’s a visiting dignitary and not the newest member of a team that, essentially, carries out manual labour.  
“Tubbs,” says Tubbs, shaking his hand firmly.  
Callum guesses that Ben’s worked out the best way of winding up Stuart is to cosy up to the other team. My enemy’s enemy is my friend, and all that. Callum’s staying well out of it all.  
“So,” says Ben. “I can’t help but notice there’s six of us altogether.”  
Tubbs, Martin Fowler and Stuart nod in unison, all looking slightly mystified.  
“So how come you,” Ben points at Stuart, “and you,” he points at Tubbs, “don’t share a hotel room like the rest of us have to?”  
Stuart and Tubbs exchange a glance. “It don’t work like that,” says Tubbs.  
“Nah, see we work out of different offices,” explains Stuart. “Different admin team makin’ different bookin’s, see.”  
“Wow,” says Ben. “Think of all the money they could save if they centralised it all.” He turns back to Tubbs and taps the side of his forehead. “I’ve just come from runnin’ me own business, mate. Got a head for savin’ money, I have.”  
“Got a head for runnin’ businesses into the ground, more like,” says Stuart in an undertone to no one in particular.  
“You what, mate?” asks Ben, tipping his chin towards Stuart. Stuart squares up to him, and Callum cringes.  
They’re interrupted by the arrival of the site foreman, who spends ten minutes moaning that, if he had his way, their work would be programmed in much later in the schedule of works. There are twenty-four houses on the site, so they divvy them up equally between the two teams. As Tubbs and his men march off towards their first house, Callum feels, not for the first time, that they’re in competition. However, success isn’t going to be measured by the quality of their work. No, as far as Stuart’s concerned, they’ll only finish this fortnight ahead if they throw their twelve kitchens together before the other team.  
It’s looking unlikely that they’ll win, though. As the day wears on, Callum notices that Ben’s doing just enough to look busy, but not enough to actually get them achieving anything much more than when it was just the two of them. He’s going to have to keep an eye on him, bring the issue up if things don’t change. Gangster or not, Ben Mitchell is going to have to start pulling his weight.  
Towards the end of the afternoon the bloke starts moaning about how his back is killing him, and when they finish up for the night and head to their hotel rooms a couple of miles away, he faceplants into the double bed in their shared room and tells Callum he’s not moving again until tomorrow morning. Callum places his bag on the desk under the window and sighs quietly. He supposes that means he’s on the fold-out bed then. He can’t help feeling that, in terms of seniority, he’s second in the pecking order and that should mean he gets the proper bed.  
He reprimands himself for thinking like Stuart, and resigns himself to pulling out the fold-out and making it up with the spare pillows and blankets that are stored in the top of the wardrobe. Whenever they’re away they stay in Premier Inns, so he pretty much knows what to expect whether he’s in Wolverhampton, Waco or Wakefield.  
Sofa-bed made up, he’s got nearly an hour to kill before they’re all meeting up in the Brewer’s Fayre across the car park for food. He sits at the desk, watching Ben sprawled out on the bed. He knows he’s not asleep because he’s taken out his phone a couple of times to check his texts, but the younger man seems to be totally anti-social. It’s going to get pretty awkward sharing a room if they don’t make any conversation, so Callum clears his throat.  
“You, uh… you married?”  
Ben throws himself over onto his back and seems to find Callum’s question hilarious, judging by the wide grin he gives him. “Nah, mate. I have got a daughter, though.” He pulls out his phone again and swipes through some photos until he finds the one he wants to show Callum. His face softens. “Lexi. She’s a little sweetheart.”  
Callum leans over and nods at the picture of a blonde little girl. “She’s cute. How old?”  
“Six.” Ben sits up on the bed.  
“You ain’t with her mum no more?” asks Callum.  
“Yes and no,” says Ben. At Callum’s confused look, he grins again. “Let’s just say we’ve got a bit too much in common to be together-together. Still share the same house though. Her and me ‘n’ Lexi ‘n’ me mum ‘n’ me brother ‘n’ his son. Well, I say ‘brother’. Half-brother’s more like it.”  
Callum lost count of all the relationships in that house around the halfway mark of Ben’s convoluted sentence. “Quite a clan, then,” he says.  
“Quite a clan,” repeats Ben, nodding his head.  
“You don’t live with yer dad, then?” asks Callum.  
He sees a cloud pass over Ben’s face at the mention of Phil Mitchell. “Me dad? Nah. Why d’you ask that?”  
“No reason,” says Callum. “I just thought - ”  
“Well you thought wrong,” says Ben in a warning voice, his face hardening back to its normal urban belligerence. He gets up and heads for the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself.  
Well. There’s rude and then there’s Ben Mitchell-rude. Callum begins to wonder if Whit’s right – he does need to find a new job. Sharing a room with Ben for weeks on end is not shaping up to provide fulfilling career benefits. The man’s a mixture of brash and soft – more the former than the latter - and Callum’s not yet worked out which version he’s likely to get from one minute to the next. He’s a conundrum, that’s for sure, but one thing Callum does know: he’s shaping up to be a more challenging room-mate even than his predecessor, Mac, who complained like it was an Olympic sport and he was going for gold.

They’ve created their own little community, thinks Callum sentimentally, these six men lounging round a Brewer’s Fayre table after sinking their own body weight in chips and lasagne washed down with lager. They’re away from home more often than not, so they’ve practically become each other’s substitute family. Tubbs and Martin Fowler are the wise elders, despite what Stuart might think himself to be. They’ve lived chequered lives and have loads of war stories, and a good line in sarky humour.  
Ben’s changed the dynamic a bit. Callum doesn’t remember nearly so much ribbing and laughter before he came along. The bloke’s found his place in the group immediately, much to Stuart’s resentment. He’s raucous and sharp, but he’s pretty much ignored Callum since his little outburst back in the hotel room, and Callum’s fine with that. He’s spent most of the evening talking about football with Keanu, who might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer but does seem to know Chelsea FC inside out, although some of it Callum’s heard before.  
Without realising it, Callum’s been knocking back the lager at pace, and when he stands to go to the toilet, he sways slightly. He glances at his watch as he heads away from the table and sees that it’s just past ten. He thinks he’ll call it a night. He never likes to cane it on his first night away.  
He texts Whitney while he’s taking a piss, and then heads back to the table to tell the men he’s turning in. He leaves to a chorus of ‘goodnight’s and good-natured insults.  
Outside the restaurant it’s turned colder and drier, and his breath hangs in front of him in clouds. There’s a full moon and this far out of the city, away from the street-lights, he can see stars in the sky. He stops for a second to look up at them, feeling melancholy. He’s not sure why, and continues on his way, thinking maybe some time on his own watching the telly and not having to make the effort to talk to anyone might set him right again.  
Halfway across the car park he hears footsteps behind him, and a voice shouts, “Hold up!”  
He curses to himself and turns. It’s Ben.  
“Thought I’d call it a night too,” says the younger man, as if his earlier anger with Callum had never happened. He jogs across the car park and then keeps pace with Callum. The silence between them continues until they reach the hotel room.  
Ben sits on the end of the bed as Callum sinks down onto the fold-out, staring at him with his head tipped to one side. Callum lets it ride for a while as he checks his phone. There’s a text reply from Whitney. “U not gonna call me?”  
“Bit tired,” he texts back, then sends another text with an ‘x’. He knows it looks like an afterthought. He’s not very good at this boyfriend thing.  
He gets another reply with a single ‘x’, and tries to decipher what its tone might be. ‘Annoyed’, he guesses. He loves Whit, he does, but sometimes he just doesn’t know what to say to her. Another phone call would just have comprised her moaning that he’s so far away and him feeling relieved about the same thing.  
He’s going to have to speak to Stuart about it. His brother might be an idiot most of the time, but he can sometimes deliver some good advice when it comes to affairs of the heart. Maybe Whit is just not the girl for Callum. He’s pretty sure he shouldn’t be feeling so underwhelmed by love after only a year together. If he’s being honest with himself, he feels trapped, and he’s not sure that’s the feeling you should be heading for a wedding with. He sighs, and stares into space, then becomes aware that Ben is still watching him carefully.  
“You sulking?” the bloke asks. When Callum doesn’t reply, he indicates Callum’s phone and asks, “Woman trouble?”  
Callum frowns. It’s none of his business.  
“Cos that don’t look like love’s young dream to me,” persists Ben.  
“You don’t know nothin’ about it,” says Callum sharply, still feeling the effects of the lager. If Ben Mitchell can be stroppy, so can he. His head’s swimming and a wave of tiredness has come over him. He slides down on the sofa-bed to anchor himself, and his feet dangle off the end where it’s too short for him.  
“Wanna talk about it?” asks Ben.  
Callum snorts, lifting his head to glare at Ben. “What, so now you’re the caring agony aunt, are ya? Last time we spoke you was bitin’ me head off for mentioning yer dad.”  
“Some things is out o’ bounds,” says Ben in a warning tone.  
“Same!” retorts Callum. Mafia member or not, Ben Mitchell doesn’t intimidate him.  
Ben continues staring at him like he’s sizing him up, and then hops off the bed and crosses to the sofa-bed, where he throws himself down beside Callum and props his head up on his hand.  
“What the hell are you doin’?” asks Callum.  
“You can have the bed,” says Ben. “This one’s too small for ya.”  
Callum’s brain is taking a while to catch up with the conversation. “Right,” he says. After a pause, he adds, “Thanks.”  
“Welcome,” says Ben.  
Callum tips his head back into the pillow, twisting his neck this way and that. He’s got to admit, the physical work of kitchen fitting is playing havoc with his neck and shoulder muscles. He closes his eyes for just a second. He’ll rouse himself in a minute to cross to the other bed.  
“I dunno how to be a good boyfriend.”  
His eyes shoot open. He hadn’t intended to say that. It’s the lager talking. He glances round at Ben, expecting him to mock him, but the younger man is looking serious. Curious, even.  
“Why d’ya say that?”  
Callum sighs, wishing he hadn’t started down this particular route. “I dunno. I just don’t get it. What yer supposed to do in a relationship. What yer supposed to feel.” He shifts round onto his side so he’s facing Ben, and mirrors his position with his head on his hand. “There must be more to it, surely?”  
Ben huffs a laugh. “Don’t ask me, mate. I ain’t got a clue. Never really had much luck in that department meself, neither.” After a second he adds, “I do know somethin’ though. If you have to force it, it ain’t right.”  
Callum opens his mouth to deny that that’s the case, but then can’t muster the energy. This close up, he can see the lighter flecks of blue in Ben’s irises. “Why can’t I talk about yer dad?” he asks, emboldened by the lager he’s drunk.  
He steels himself for another outburst from Ben, but the younger man’s expression changes to something that looks like sadness for a second, before he pastes on a grim smile.  
“Cos I’m a huge disappointment to ‘im,” he says simply, shrugging his shoulders. “NOT a chip off the old block.”  
“Not a member of the Walford Mafia, then?” asks Callum.  
Ben grins at him. “You what?”  
“Sorry,” says Callum, his brain catching up to what he’s just said. “I think I’m a bit drunk.”  
“I think you must be, mate,” says Ben. “I ain’t sayin’ I’m squeaky clean but no, in answer to your question, I ain’t a member of the Mafia.” He snorts at the thought.  
“Good,” says Callum. “That’s good, ain’t it?”  
Ben’s looking highly amused. “It is good.”  
They grin at each other. Callum relaxes and drops his head onto his arm. It’s not until his eyes flick down to Ben’s lips that he realises the intimacy of their situation. He glances up and sees a change come over Ben’s expression, as if he’s become aware of it too, and he quickly rolls off the bed and steps away to a safe distance.  
He busies himself digging in his bag for his toothbrush and tooth paste, suddenly feeling sober and awkward.  
As he crosses to the bathroom, Ben says, “Maybe that’s the problem, mate.”  
Callum doesn’t dare turn to face him. He stops. “What?”  
“Maybe you bat for the other side.”  
Callum heads for the bathroom without answering. Once inside with the door locked safely behind himself, he squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush with a shaky hand.

THREE  
When he wakes up the next morning, Callum’s head is banging. He lies still with his eyes screwed shut and wills the blood to stop throbbing in his temples. When he’d finally ventured out of the bathroom last night there had been no further discussion between him and Ben, apart from a “Night princess,” from Ben, said in a voice laden with derision.  
Callum’d tossed and turned all night. He’s surprised he hadn’t kept Ben awake too, but there had been no sound and very little movement from the lump under the duvet on the fold-out bed.  
Thing is, it’s not the first time Callum’s been confronted with a possible fact about himself he’d rather ignore. He’s not an idiot. He’s questioned why it is he doesn’t feel that connection with Whit that he should, but he’s put it down to the fact that they just don’t have the right chemistry. It doesn’t mean he isn’t interested in ANY women. He can see women on the streets of Walford and appreciate how fit they are, so that says a lot, doesn’t it? He ignores the voice in his head that reminds him he’d seen men during his time in the army and thought something similar. That’s different. It’s just about an appreciation of beauty. It doesn’t mean he wants to jump into bed with them.  
He goes hot and cold at the thought. He’s straight. He’s just got a low sex drive, maybe. He stirs, sitting up before those thoughts can take hold again. At his movement, the lump under the duvet on the other bed shifts too, and Ben pulls the covers back from over his head. He smiles blearily across at Callum in the early grey light, and says “Mornin’ princess.”  
“Shut up!” says Callum, sliding out of bed and heading back into the bathroom for a shower.  
At breakfast, he toys with a piece of toast and gulps down hot black coffee with two sugars, watching Ben when he thinks the other man isn’t looking. Ben is wolfing down a fry-up like he’s not eaten for a month, and answering Stuart’s comments with his mouth full. Callum supposes Ben is quite fit, in a certain light. Bit short, though.  
A text from Whitney calls a halt to those thoughts, and Callum’s brought back to reality with a bump. He’s horrified he’s even been entertaining a consideration of the aesthetic merits of Ben Mitchell, and even more so when Ben throws him a sly wink when Stuart’s gone off to get more bacon from the breakfast buffet. He blushes, and folds himself over his phone to tap out a response to Whitney’s greeting. It’s only Tuesday, but she’s already getting excited about the weekend they’ve got planned celebrating their one-year anniversary. Callum hopes she hasn’t gone overboard with it all.  
He’s bought her a necklace, because he thought he ought to, and they’re going for a meal, and that should be enough. If he buys a big enough bottle of wine to go with the meal and drinks most of it himself, one of two things will happen: either he’ll be relaxed enough to perform to the standard she’ll be expecting in bed afterwards, or he’ll be so pissed he’ll fall asleep before they can get down to it. He doesn’t mind which happens, to be honest.  
Stuart returns from the buffet, plate laden with more food, and Ben slurps the last of his coffee and then tells them he’s heading back to the hotel room.  
“Don’t be late!” says Stuart. “We’re leaving in twenty.”  
Ben ignores him and swaggers out of the restaurant.  
“How is it, sharin’ with Ben Mitchell then?” asks Stuart, slopping red and brown sauces onto his plate before shoving an entire piece of bacon into his mouth.  
Terrifying, thinks Callum. “S’alright,” he says. “He’s bin OK so far. I don’t think he’s as bad as you made out.”  
“Hmm,” says Stuart non-committally. Martin Fowler approaches their table, rubbing sleep out of his eyes and flattening down his hair, which looks a bit like he’s been rubbing a balloon on it.  
“Martin Fowler!” says Stuart. “Blimey! You’re cuttin’ it a bit fine, ain’t ya? We’re off to the site soon.”  
“We won’t be far behind ya,” yawns Martin Fowler, pulling out the chair opposite Callum and throwing himself into it. He clears his throat, waking himself up slowly. “Anyway, it ain’t what time you show up, it’s how quick you work, ain’t it? And we’ve got you beat on that every time.”  
Stuart snorts, and Callum stands up, ready to head back to the hotel room to collect his jacket before the two of them get deep into an argument. He knows it’s only good-natured, but sometimes he really can’t be doing with it, especially this early in the morning.

The rest of the week follows the same pattern. Back-breaking work, banter and competition between the lads, and innuendo from Ben. Now that the younger man thinks he’s discovered something about Callum he’s merciless, taking every opportunity to rib him and making it his life’s calling to embarrass him; casting aspersions on his masculinity and even, on one occasion when Stuart’s looking the other way, slapping him on the bum, leaving him flustered and angry.  
Callum’s not sorry when Friday evening rolls around and they’re heading up the motorway back home. He even offers to drive, thinking it might mean that Ben leaves him alone for a while. He puts his foot down all the way, to the extent that Stuart comments on it somewhere around Swindon.  
“Desperate to get back to the lovely Miss Dean, am I right?” he asks. Beside him, Ben snorts quietly, but loud enough for Callum to hear.  
When they reach Albert Square and all go their separate ways for the weekend, he feels like he can finally breathe again.  
“Have a good’un,” says Stuart as they part ways on the corner of Victoria Road. “Don’t get carried away celebrating yer anniversary. Remember you need to be out of bed by half four Monday morning.”  
Callum smiles feebly and heads off for Whitney’s.

The next night, as Callum tops up their wine glasses for the second time, Whitney gives him an exasperated look.  
“What?” he asks, wondering if he’s got spinach between his teeth. The restaurant Whit had booked for their anniversary is a bit fancy for his tastes, and he feels hot and awkward in his best shirt and suit jacket. He thinks maybe the waiters are looking down their noses at the two of them, and reminds himself that they’re only glorified McDonald’s workers with added attitude.  
“I get it,” says Whitney, who seems right at home in the restaurant, oblivious to any vibes coming from the waiters. “You’ve made a new friend. But can you please stop banging on about Ben bloody Mitchell? Tonight’s supposed to be about us.”  
Callum frowns. “I ain’t been bangin’ -”  
“You have.” Whit lays a hand on his arm. “And it’s cute that you’ve got a new friend. You should spread yer wings a bit, get out from under Stuart’s shadow. I ain’t so sure Ben Mitchell’s the best person to be gettin’ involved with, though.”  
“I ain’t ‘involved’ with ‘im.” Callum’s feeling even warmer for some reason. He loosens his collar and takes a long sip of wine.  
“You know what I mean,” says Whitney, picking up a leftover chip from her plate and nibbling on it delicately. “Anyway, he’s bad news.”  
“See, people keep sayin’ that to me,” says Callum. “And I ain’t seen nothin’ that makes me think that’s true.”  
“He’s a nasty piece of work when he wants to be,” says Whitney, shoving the rest of the chip in her mouth and swallowing quickly. She groans. “This is what I mean! You’ve spent nearly all our anniversary meal talking about that bloody man, and now I’m at it too! Give it a rest, Cal.” She runs her finger under the new necklace he’d bought her, a silver chain with a delicate sapphire flower hanging from it, and suddenly looks coy. “I reckon we oughtta finish up here quick and get back home. I’ve got a bit of an urge that needs seein’ to.”  
Callum smiles faintly. 

He surprises himself. Once they get back to Whitney’s and get down to it, he’s rampant. He still avoids doing oral if he can help it, and is squeamish at anything involving fingers, but his performance must pass muster with Whitney, because she lies panting afterwards and looks at him with adoring eyes.  
“Wow! You should make new friends more often if that’s the result.”  
Callum rolls over onto his back, sweaty and panting too, his momentary triumph ruined. “Shut up, Whit,” he says irritably. Truth be told, an image of Ben’s blue eyes had jumped into his mind just before the crucial moment, and he’s scared himself with what that means.  
Whitney pulls away from him, all thoughts of love and lust forgotten. “Don’t speak to me like that! Her tone is brittle. “What’s got into you, Cal?”  
Immediately, he’s remorseful. “I’m sorry, Whit. I just don’t like you jokin’ about things like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“I’m straight, alright?”  
She cuddles closer again, raising her head to stare right into his eyes. She has a frown on her face. “Well of course you are. I weren’t suggestin’ anything else.” She scrutinises his face for a second or two, then her features soften into a smile, her dimples showing. “God! You ex-army blokes are so fiercely masculine, ain’t ya? Can’t even joke about it, eh?”  
“No,” says Callum. He isn’t smiling.  
“Yer still gainin’ yer confidence,” says Whitney, stroking his chest soothingly. “I know that. I know you ain’t had much experience, and I’m not suggesting that’s cos yer – you know.”  
Callum smiles weakly at her. He feels like he’s in no-man’s land. When he was away he wanted to get home as soon as he could, and now he’s at home, he can’t wait to get away again.  
He wakes early on the Sunday and showers, shaves and dresses before Whitney’s awake. Then he makes her a cuppa and takes it to her in bed.  
“You’re such a model boyfriend,” she says as she takes it. “You should come back to bed.”  
“Can’t,” says Callum, feeling guilty and disagreeing completely with her assessment of his boyfriending abilities. “I’ve got stuff to do.”  
“Oh yeah? Like what?”  
He thinks quickly. “Gotta take me girlfriend up the west end for lunch and shoppin’.”  
She beams. “Really?”  
“Yeah. You want some decent clothes for our honeymoon, dontcha?”  
“Well yeah, but the honeymoon’s not for another four months. You sure?”  
“Course. I’m hardly ever home, am I? We may as well make the most of the time we do get together.”  
He knows she would consider ‘making the most of their time together’ being in bed together, but his mind is in a muddle, and he needs some time to sort it out. Trailing around clothes shops after Whit and giving the occasional nod of approval when she tries something on seems like a good use of his time right now.  
And actually, when they’re out and about and well away from their bed, they get on really well. He loves her, he really does, and the prospect of their impending wedding doesn’t seem so bad. Maybe he just needs to work on the sex thing. He needs to gain a bit more confidence from somewhere. 

By the time he’s meeting up with Stuart and Ben for work again that following morning, he’s got it all sorted in his head. Nothing Ben Mitchell can do or say will have him doubting himself. He’s straight. He’s got a gorgeous girlfriend, and he’s the luckiest man in the world.  
“How’d it go then, bruv?” asks Stuart.  
“Yeah, it was good,” says Callum. “Lovely weekend.”  
“Ah yes,” drawls Ben. “The anniversary. Two princesses together.”  
“You what?” asks Stuart, ready for a fight, although he’s currently aiming the van like an Exocet missile around Marble Arch, travelling at way over the speed limit.  
“Leave it,” says Callum in a voice that he hopes conveys how completely unaffected he is by Ben’s ribbing. “He’s tryin’ to be funny.”  
Ben snorts quietly. “I ain’t tryin’, mate,” he says in an undertone.  
“No, you’re failin’,” mutters Callum. He’s quite proud of his quick response.

They’ve got a tradition, the five of them - and now Ben will have too, for as long as he’s working with them all. The Thursday before they finish up a job they find a local club and have a good night out, before struggling through hangovers on the Friday and heading home for the weekend. Stuart’s usually the one to research where they’ll be going, and their second and final week in Wolverhampton is no exception.  
“It ain’t a goth karaoke bar again, is it?” asks Callum, when his brother raises the subject on the Wednesday.  
“That weren’t my fault,” says Stuart. “They hadn’t updated their website.” He taps the worktop they’re currently fitting into place and heads across the room for his drill. “Besides, we belted out a bit of My Chemical Romance, didn’t we? Still had a good night.”  
Callum begs to differ. He’s not one for singing in public, although Keanu and Martin Fowler duetting on ‘Welcome to the Black Parade’ without even knowing the tune was particularly entertaining, for the five of them, if not for the locals.  
“Where was that again?” he asks. “Peterborough?”  
“Peterborough,” says Stuart, pointing his drill bit at him like he’s just answered the top question on Who Wants to be A Millionaire. “Good times.”  
“I need a screw,” says Ben in a tone that lets Callum know he’s teasing him again. “Cal, can you oblige?” He’s currently half underneath the row of units he’s been fitting, anchoring them to the oven housing.  
“Sort out yer own screw,” says Callum, without looking round at him. Try as he might, Ben Mitchell is NOT going to faze him this week. “So, where we goin’ this time then?”  
“Packers,” says Stuart proudly.  
“Blimey,” says Ben from somewhere near Callum’s ankles. “Sounds like a gay club.”  
Stuart grimaces at him. “It ain’t a gay club. I looked on the site – which they updated last month, by the way, and there’s plenty of totty goes there. We’ll have a good night.”  
“I don’t know why we bother,” says Callum. “We’ve all got girlfriends already.”  
“Tubbs hasn’t,” says Stuart. “Far as I know Mitchell here hasn’t.”  
“I ain’t lookin’, mate,” says Ben. “And neither is Tubbs. I know that for a fact cos he told me he’s got about four different birds on the go. Dunno where he finds the energy.”  
“It don’t hurt to look,” says Stuart, ignoring him. “You can window shop, you don’t have to try the goods, do ya?”  
Ben slides out from where he’s been grappling with the oven housing and stands up straight, grimacing and stretching out his back, his hands fisting his spine. His t-shirt rides up a little, and Callum averts his gaze.  
“Is this ‘what happens on tour stays on tour’ then?” asks Ben.  
“If ya like,” says Callum. He really hopes Ben isn’t the type to party hard. He’s not staying in Wolverhampton another day to finish up because one member of the team can’t pace himself when it comes to clubbing.

When Thursday evening comes around though, it seems that Ben is definitely taking their extra-curricular activities seriously, judging by the effort he’s made. He’s wearing black jeans and boots, and a burgundy t-shirt he’s only worn one evening that week, and he looks good. If, that is (unlike Callum) you were a bird who was looking to pull a reasonably fit, slightly short Londoner with a serious line in sarcasm.  
They pull out all the stops for their evenings out – this time Keanu’s even borrowed the iron from the hotel reception to iron his shirt, and Stuart’s doused himself in cheap aftershave that makes Callum’s nose itch in the taxi on the way there – and they look like a force to be reckoned with as they enter the club. They get there at about nine thirty so they can knock back a few drinks before it gets busy, and by eleven thirty the place is heaving. Stuart had been right when he said there’d be a fair bit of totty there. Callum sits back in the booth they’d bagged when they got there and tries to work out which of the women he’d make a move on if he wasn’t with Whit.  
He’s gazing around, giving marks out of ten, when he spots Ben over by the bar. He’s deep in conversation with a taller bloke. Callum is still perplexed at Whit and Stuart’s opinions of Ben. He seems like just an ordinary bloke, so Callum doesn’t know where Stuart’s got this ‘Walford Mafia’ idea from. Maybe Phil Mitchell is a wrong ‘un, but it doesn’t seem to follow that Ben is too. Perhaps that’s why the younger man says he’s a disappointment to his dad – he’s legit, and Phil doesn’t approve.  
The tall bloke seems to be having an intense conversation with Ben. Their heads are close together, and he’s whispering something in his ear. As Callum watches, Ben nods, and then they head through the crowd together in the direction of the toilets, Ben leading and the other bloke following close behind.  
Of course! Callum’s an idiot! That’s what Whit had meant when she said he didn’t want to get mixed up with Ben Mitchell.  
The bloke’s dealing.  
It’s as obvious as the nose on Callum’s face. He sits, dumbfounded, for a few seconds, and then the anger rises in him. If the bosses found out, Ben would be out of his job in a flash – and so might Callum, if they realise he was aware of it. Drug dealers are the lowest of the low. Callum’s had Rainie’s recent experience as an example of the misery and pain they deal in, not just for the addict but for everyone around them too. Callum thought Stuart was going out of his mind a year ago, so stressed was he at helping Rainie get off the bastard things.  
He jumps to his feet and heads off to the toilets, determined to give Ben Mitchell a piece of his mind, his anger propelling him rapidly through the crowd.  
He bursts through the door to the gents expecting to find Ben red-handed with his ‘customer’, heads bent together and money changing hands, but there’s only a young kid at one of the urinals. He glances over at Callum as if he thinks he’s going to start trouble, and then zips himself up and heads quickly for the door. He makes eye contact as he passes Callum, and then his gaze slides over to the only occupied cubicle. A look of distaste passes over his face before he heads out of the toilets and Callum’s left alone.  
Or almost alone. He can hear whispers coming from the cubicle, and the sound of heavy breathing. There’s a quiet moan, and suddenly Callum gets the picture. He turns hot. He’s got this so wrong.  
Ben Mitchell is not dealing. Ben Mitchell is just the biggest hypocrite Callum’s ever met.  
He hears Ben’s voice, sounding ragged. “Oh god, yeah, that’s good.”  
He hears another moan, he’s not sure who from, and the cubicle door rattles as one of them slams their hand up against it. Then he turns on his heels and makes his way back through the club.  
Stuart is in close conversation with Tubbs and Martin Fowler back in their booth. Callum towers over them and tells Stuart he’s going to get a taxi back to the hotel. Before Stuart can answer, he’s heading for the exit.

FOUR  
Callum can’t sleep. He tosses and turns in bed for a while before giving up the attempt and switching on the light over the headboard and sitting in silence.  
His head is a mess. Ben… Ben is the very thing he’s been accusing Callum of being. The nerve of the bloke! The sheer brazenness of him, teasing Callum all week and then doing THAT in a club toilet, wantonly with another man, where anyone could come in and hear them. The heavy breaths, the moans, the shameless sounds of…  
Callum grabs the remote control and switches on the TV. It’s just after one in the morning, and the telly is spewing out the dregs of its output. A ridiculous game show that never made it onto prime-time telly; a documentary about life on a remote hilltop farm; an earnest discussion programme about some obscure branch of the arts. He flicks back to the programme about the farm, and tries to still all the thoughts racing round in his head.  
Across the room, Ben’s bed is in semi-darkness, the arc of the headboard light not quite reaching far enough to illuminate it properly. On the telly, a sheepdog rounds up a bunch of sheep, chasing round and round them all, stemming the tide when a few of them try to break free and creating neat order from the chaos. Callum wishes it was that easy to stem the tide of his thoughts.  
He hears footsteps coming down the corridor outside, and voices, as the rest of the group arrive back from the club whispering loudly in that way that drunk people think is being quiet. Stuart’s door slams shut next door; the rest of the group carry on down the corridor, and then Callum hears Ben struggling to insert his key-card into the door lock.  
The door opens with an electronic whirr, and Ben comes into the room with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Callum folds his arms.  
The expression on Ben’s face changes when he realises Callum’s still awake. He glances from him to the telly, looking bemused.  
“You alright? Why d’ya leave early?” He meanders across to his bed and sits down, his face becoming indistinct in the half-shadow. His attention is caught by the telly for a few seconds, as if it’s taking a while for his brain to process what he’s seeing. “Didn’t have you down as the rustic type, Cal.”  
“What d’you think you were doin’?” asks Callum in a fierce whisper. He’s conscious that Stuart’s only a paper-thin wall away. “You’re a bleedin’ hypocrite, Ben.”  
Ben’s face creases into a frown a second or so before he manages to form words. “What ya talkin’ about?”  
“Keep yer voice down!” hisses Callum.  
Ben looks taken aback. “Sorry.”  
“I SAW ya! In the toilets with that bloke.”  
Ben’s face clears into comprehension. He shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “And?”  
“You’ve bin givin’ me hell all week cos you think you know something about me – which you don’t, by the way – and it turns out you really are.”  
“I really am what?” Ben sits forward, his features chiselled like granite by the light and shadow in that part of the room. He glares at Callum. “Go on, say it Cal. What am I?”  
When Callum doesn’t answer, he scoffs. “You can’t even say it, can ya? That’s how far in denial you are! I’m GAY, Callum.”  
They’re both whispering, and it would be comical if Callum wasn’t so angry. It’s really hard to have a full-blown argument in whispers.  
Ben folds his arms and waits for a response. When Callum still doesn’t speak, he rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “See, I just said I’m gay and the world didn’t explode. It’s not a big deal. You should try it some time.”  
“Why would I - you’re a hypocrite,” repeats Callum. It’s all he’s got in his arsenal. “You lied.”  
Ben shakes his head again. “Nah, I never lied. You just never asked. I’da told you if you had. I’m not ashamed of it, it’s just who I am.” He rubs his eyes tiredly and then gets up and heads for the bathroom. “And from where I’m standin’, I ain’t the hypocrite in this room. How are the weddin’ plans comin’ along, Cal? Still stringin’ that bird of yours along, are ya?”  
“I LOVE Whitney,” says Callum. “Whatever you think you know about me, it ain’t true.”  
Ben stops with his hand on the bathroom door handle. “I only know what I see, mate. The vibes you give off would be easier to spot from space than the Great Wall of bleedin’ China.”  
“It ain’t true,” repeats Callum, picking at the bedclothes with his fingers and feeling a tide of panic rising in his chest.  
“Oh, and word of advice,” says Ben. “Stop pervin’ on people gettin’ it on in toilets. If you want a go with me, just say. I’m not gonna turn ya down, alright?”  
He winks and then disappears into the bathroom, leaving Callum feeling disgusted, despairing, hot and bothered.

He thinks he might have got away with avoiding Ben the next morning. There’s no movement from the other bed while he’s getting dressed and packing his bag ready to go home that evening, and he doesn’t bother to wake Ben up before he leaves for breakfast. If the bloke can’t organise his life to be on time for work, Callum’s not going to do it for him.  
His head is still a mess. He gulps down a couple of pieces of toast and a coffee, and then heads out for a walk around the block before it’s time to meet Stuart back at the van.  
The hotel they’re staying in is at the end of a trading estate on the edge of a dual carriageway, and his surroundings only serve to make him feel more miserable. He gets as far as the dual carriageway, but then turns back, defeated. He doesn’t fancy a walk along a noisy road with lorries flashing past, belching fumes into his face. He slows his pace on the walk back to the hotel. It’s still early and the light is grey, as if the day’s not worked out what it’s shaping up to be yet. He thanks god it’s Friday. He just needs to get through the next few hours and then he can be back with Whit. He’s going to try really hard in the bedroom department this weekend. He was getting the hang of it last weekend. He thinks his confidence is growing, just like she said.  
He’s feeling unaccountably horny, too. It must be the prospect of getting home to her. It is most definitely NOT the memory of the noises he’d heard last night in the club toilets. It’s definitely not the thoughts that were racing through his head until just before dawn.  
When he gets back to the hotel, Stuart’s just unlocking the van. There’s no sign of Ben.  
“You alright bruv?” asks Stuart. “Where d’you dash off to last night?”  
“Just didn’t feel very well,” says Callum, climbing up into the van and belting himself into the middle seat.  
“You alright now?” asks Stuart.  
“Yeah. Looking forward to gettin’ h - ”  
Callum is interrupted by Ben yanking open the door and hurling himself into the passenger seat. He’s carrying two pieces of toast in his mouth and a white porcelain mug of coffee in one hand. The liquid spills over the rim and splashes in the footwell.  
“Did you just steal that from the restaurant?” asks Callum, incredulous.  
“Yep,” says Ben, his voice muffled by the toast in his mouth. He places the coffee carefully on the dashboard, and takes the toast out of his mouth. A few crumbs and a blob of marmalade remain in the corner of his bottom lip. Callum looks away quickly. “S’what people like me do, ain’t it?” asks Ben. He nudges Callum, causing him to look back round at him. “Break all the rules, undermine society. All that jazz.” He pokes out his tongue to lick the crumbs away, maintaining eye contact with Callum all the while.  
“You ain’t funny,” says Callum.  
“Right, now we’re all here,” says Stuart, sounding like a headmaster. He belts up, switches on the ignition and manoeuvres the van out of the car park. “I think we might beat ‘em there today,” he says cheerfully.

Callum’s half-planning to phone Stuart to say he’s sick the following Monday, although he’s in two minds because they’ve got a reasonably easy assignment coming up: a week away on the outskirts of Norwich. The problem is, he’s dreading sharing a hotel room with Ben, now he knows what he knows about him. He’s still angry that the bloke gave him a hard time when the reality is, of the two of them, it’s Ben’s problem and not his.  
“Did you know about Ben Mitchell?” he asks Whitney when they’re lying in bed after a pretty successful session on the Saturday morning, if he does say so himself.  
“What about ‘im?” murmurs Whitney sleepily, stroking a hand down his inner thigh. He’s oversensitive after coming, and it tickles. He shifts out of reach with as much subtlety as he can manage.  
“He’s you-know-what.”  
She raises her head to give him a confused look. “What? Russian? Vegetarian? Catholic?”  
“He bats for the other side,” says Callum, as quickly as he can.  
“I had heard a rumour, yeah,” says Whitney. She pauses, and then looks astounded. “Oh my god! You’ve got a problem with it, ain’t ya? I never had ya down as a homophobe!”  
“I ain’t homophobic,” says Callum, feeling like a small-minded idiot. “I just didn’t know. An’ I’m sharin’ a room with ‘im so, you know…”  
“So you think he’s gonna jump you in yer sleep?” She taps him lightly on the nose. “Sweetheart, I might find ya irresistible, but that don’t mean everyone else does. An’ if he ain’t tried it on by now, he ain’t gonna, is he? Just chill, babe.” She kisses him, and then giggles as she pulls away. “Aww, does this mean he’s not your friend no more?”  
Callum makes a face at her. He thinks back over his encounters with Ben since he’s joined their team. Has he been trying it on? Is that what all the innuendo’s been about? Maybe Callum should just sit him down and tell him he’s not interested, once and for all. And if Ben persists, well, Callum can always set Stuart on him.  
He definitely isn’t interested. But he can’t stop thinking back to that encounter he’d walked in on at the club. It’s almost worse that he didn’t actually see anything, because his mind is conjuring up all sorts of images. It helps his performance with Whitney, but it doesn’t help his peace of mind in the slightest. Maybe he, Callum, is the one with the problem, after all. Being so fixated on what a work acquaintance gets up to sex-wise is just not healthy, is it?  
Nevertheless, he throws himself energetically into sex with Whitney, and the weekend goes well. By the time Sunday night rolls around Callum is secure enough in his masculinity to forget the idea of calling in sick. 

It’s probably just as well he didn’t anyway, because as they head off for Norwich on the Monday morning, Stuart is in a foul mood. He won’t talk about it much, but Callum gets enough out of him to piece together that he’s argued with Rainie, big time.  
What with Stuart in a strop and Ben treading gingerly around Callum (for once) the trip to Norwich is miserable, and Callum’s glad when they get to the site and start work. The presence of Tubbs, Martin Fowler and Keanu helps to dilute the general awkwardness, too, but on the Wednesday, Stuart’s levels of stroppiness reach new heights.  
He storms into the kitchen Ben and Callum have been working on, Callum at one end and Ben at the other, with the radio playing to prevent the need for any more conversation than is strictly necessary.  
“Did anyone bother to count all the stock before we started?” demands Stuart.  
Ben and Callum both look up. “Ain’t that normally your job?” asks Ben, “As unelected team leader.”  
Callum closes his eyes momentarily. Stuart sounds like he’s about to blow, and Ben’s just given him the perfect target to aim his anger at.  
“Do I have ta do everythin’ around here?” asks Stuart.  
Ben stands up from where he’s been fitting kickboards under the units he’s fitted. “Well, yeah. If you decide to take on the role of team leader. I should think - ”  
His words are bitten off as Stuart crosses the kitchen and grabs him by the front of his shirt, pushing him back against the units.  
“Think yer so bleedin’ clever, dontcha Mitchell? Don’t think I ain’t noticed you tryin’ to get away with as little work as possible.”  
“Says the bloke who takes breaks every twenty minutes,” retorts Ben, his words strangled from the tight hold Stuart’s got on him.  
Callum sighs. “Put ‘im down, Stu. And Ben, just stop talkin’, alright?”  
Stuart shakes Ben and pushes him further back so that he’s almost lying across the units. Callum watches for a second to see if things are going to get dodgy, then reluctantly crosses to intervene, pushing an arm in between them and releasing Ben’s shirt from Stuart’s grip.  
“What’s up, Stu?”  
Stuart’s eyes are still blazing. He glares at Callum instead of Ben. “They’ve cocked up, ain’t they? There’s a whole load of fittings they ain’t delivered, and they reckon they can’t get them here til Friday.”  
“Well, that’s OK, ain’t it? We’ll go round fittin’ ‘em on Friday.”  
“No, it ain’t OK,” says Stuart. “It’s gonna take more than a day to get ‘em all fitted, and I’m tellin’ ya, there is no way I’m stayin’ on another day to get it all finished. Someone else is gonna have to do it.”  
“That don’t sound like team leadership to me,” murmurs Ben. Callum’s shoulders drop. The bloke must have a death wish or something.  
“What did he say?” asks Stuart, puffing out his chest again. Callum steps in front of him, preventing him from tearing into Ben again.  
“Stu, don’t worry about it.” He half-turns to Ben. “And you, just shut up, will ya?”  
“That’ll be it if I don’t get home Friday night,” says Stuart. “Rainie’ll throw me stuff out on the street. She’s that close to leavin’ cos she never sees me.”  
“Alright,” says Callum. “I’ll stay on. You reckon it can all be finished by Saturday night?”  
Stuart shrugs. “Might tip over into Sunday mornin’.”  
Callum curses to himself.  
“I’ll stay too,” says Ben. “Won’t take as long if there’s two of us, will it?”  
“No!” begins Callum.  
“Brilliant!” says Stuart at the same time. “I owe you one, bruv. I’ll go and sort out the hotel booking.”  
He heads out of the kitchen again to make another phone call to head office. “No problem, mate,” Ben calls after him with false cheeriness.  
Callum turns to him with a face like thunder. That’s all he needs, a weekend away with Ben Mitchell.  
“What?” asks Ben, as if butter wouldn’t melt. “Oh, and thanks for steppin’ in, by the way. I felt like a proper damsel in distress just then.”

FIVE  
Callum feels a little bereft as Stuart’s bidding him farewell on the Friday afternoon. His brother’s cadging a lift back to London with Tubbs and his gang, leaving the other van with Callum. They’re due to be heading up to somewhere just outside Manchester the next week, so Ben had suggested they just stay on in Norwich and head direct to Manchester once they’ve finished up on the current site. Callum had argued that that was a stupid idea, but amazingly, head office had agreed to cover the cost of a hotel room for Sunday night too, provided Callum or Ben pay for it out of their own pocket and then claim it back, so he was stuck with it.  
The phone conversation with Whit had not gone well. Callum can sympathise with Stuart over Rainie threatening to ditch him if she doesn’t see more of him, although it hasn’t got quite to that stage with Whitney. After getting off the phone, though, he’d almost wished he could go back to the days when he was single and could please himself about where he ended up from one night to the next.  
Stuart and the rest of the lads head off about 4.30, waving and shouting insults from their van window, and then Callum is left alone with Ben. He stares at him awkwardly. Ben stares back with a faint grin on his face.  
“Alone at last! Now I can have my wicked way with ya!”  
He full-on grins at the panicked expression on Callum’s face. “Keep yer ‘air on. I’m only jokin’ with ya.”  
“You’d better be,” says Callum, folding his arms. “I was in the army, you know. I know how to fight back.”  
“Ooh! Now I really am gonna havta make a move on ya,” says Ben. “I love a man in uniform, me. ‘Specially one that puts up a fight.” He winks at Callum and goes back into the last house they’ve been working on to retrieve his coat and tools. Callum takes a few seconds to compose himself. The prospect of forty-eight hours alone with Ben Mitchell terrifies him. To be honest, the prospect of the next seven hours before he can go to sleep terrifies him. He suddenly has a brilliant idea. He pulls out his phone and does an internet search on the local area.  
“You know what I’m gonna do?” asks Ben, suddenly appearing again beside him.  
Callum ignores him, still tapping searches into his phone, but he carries on regardless.  
“I am gonna go back to that hotel room and have a nice long, hot shower, get all the grit of this buildin’ site off me.” He nudges Callum. “You can join me if ya want.”  
Callum sighs, ignoring the tingling feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Would you just stop. Please? It ain’t funny. I ain’t interested in ya, Ben. I’ve got a - ”  
“I know,” says Ben. “You’ve got a girlfriend. You keep sayin’.” He heads towards the van. “Cryin’ shame, though. Yer just me type.”  
“What, you go for straight blokes, do ya?” asks Callum, following him across the site.  
“Not usually,” says Ben. “Me gaydar must be on the blink.”  
When they’re heading back to the hotel, Callum puts his plan for the evening into action.  
“You mind if I take the van tonight?”  
“Why? Where ya goin’?” asks Ben.  
“Just out.”  
Ben shifts round in his seat to stare at Callum, putting on an astounded expression. “Where would you be goin’ out in Norwich, of all places? No! Don’t tell me… Yer either goin’ cruisin’ or doggin’. Which is it?”  
Callum narrowly misses clipping a cyclist with the side of the van as he negotiates a roundabout. “Do you never think about anything but sex?”  
Ben snorts. “Well, I am one of them filthy queers you read about in the Daily Mail, Cal. That’s all we ever do, think about sex.” He regards Callum for a second or two. “Why’ve you gone so red, Cal?”  
“Shut up!” says Callum.  
“Tell me where you’re goin’,” says Ben.  
“If I tell you where I’m goin’, will you stop with the smut and innuendo?”  
“I shall try my very best,” says Ben in a soothing voice. “Where you off to?”  
“Cinema,” says Callum.  
Ben claps his hands together like an excited toddler. “Excellent idea! What we goin’ to see?”  
“No, we ain’t…” Callum sighs a deep sigh. This is just what he needs. Something that if you squinted hard enough could look very much like a date night with Ben bloody Mitchell, of all people. He’s only glad Stuart isn’t here to see it. Ben is looking so perky at the prospect of the cinema that he doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s not invited. Still, at least he supposes it’ll give him an hour and a half or so without being teased or propositioned, if Ben can only stay quiet for that long.  
They decide to get food first, so after showering and changing they head off, following the satnav to arrive on a leisure park with all the usual range of restaurants alongside the cinema. Ben’s wearing the same outfit he wore to the club. Callum hopes it’s just because he didn’t have any other clean clothes. The younger man had better not be dressing up because he thinks he might get somewhere with Callum.  
Surprisingly, as they’re seated in the restaurant and place their orders, Ben’s quiet. It’s almost more worrying than when he’s flinging out innuendo in Callum’s direction. The waitress brings their drinks, and Callum runs his fingers up and down his glass nervously. He stops when he sees Ben’s eyes following his actions.  
“I, uh…I’m sorry if I make you uncomfortable,” says Ben. “I’ll stop.” He dips his head to stare into his pint, avoiding having to look at Callum. “I think it’s a bit of a reaction to me dad. He, uh… well, let’s just say he didn’t react well when I came out.” He peers up at Callum, and shrugs. “I s’pose I make a point of being as out and proud as I can be. Sometimes I take it a bit far.”  
Callum is taken aback at his honesty, and almost suspects he’s being set up for something. “You weren’t out and proud when you started work with us,” he points out.  
Ben looks a bit embarrassed. “Well, no. I figured a bunch of blokes workin’ on a buildin’ site might not be the most enlightened work colleagues.”  
Callum looks carefully at him. Ben’s let his defences down a little; he’s vulnerable; and Callum almost feels sorry for him.  
“I can’t talk for the others, Ben, but I don’t care either way. I take you as I find ya, but I just wish you’d lay off the teasing. You’re not exactly helpin’ yer cause.”  
Ben tips his head to one side, as if he’s agreeing with Callum’s statement. “Sorry.”  
“What did yer dad do? When you came out?” asks Callum. A couple of young women are shown to their seats at the next table, and they smile across. Callum smiles back politely. Ben ignores them. He sighs, with a distant look in his eyes.  
“What didn’t he do? Hit me, told me I was no son of his, scared off any potential boyfriends. Told me I weren’t a real man.”  
Callum sits back in his seat and stares at him, his fingers once again running up and down his glass. “Seriously?”  
Ben nods, and avoids his gaze. Callum’s pretty sure his own dad would probably react in the same way. If he ever had cause to. Which he doesn’t.  
“You ever had a boyfriend?” he asks.  
“Nah. Just one-night stands. Easier.” Ben gives a sad little smile. He’s running a finger through the condensation on his glass, concentrating hard on it so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Callum. “I was never allowed to bring anyone home to me dad’s place. That’s why I moved in with me mum. She ain’t quite such a bigot. In fact, I think she’d like nothin’ more than to find me a nice steady boyfriend. Don’t think it’s gonna happen though, somehow.”  
“Why not?” asks Callum. “You ain’t bad lookin’. Yer bearable, when you ain’t bein’ a right royal pain.”  
Ben grins at him triumphantly. “You think I ain’t bad lookin’?”  
“Shut up,” says Callum rolling his eyes. “I just mean I can’t see no obvious defects.”  
Ben lets out a chuckle at that. “I reckon I might put that on me Grindr profile. ‘No obvious defects – Callum Highway’. Should help me pullin’ power no end.”  
They smile at each other, Callum relaxing a little. He thinks he’s beginning to see the real Ben Mitchell, and it’s not the cocky, raucous little git he likes to present to the outside world.  
“I ain’t really in touch with my dad,” he says, feeling like he wants to share a confidence in return. He’s always been ashamed that his relationship with his dad was so poor, but it sounds like Ben’s isn’t any better. It’s something they’ve got in common. “He shows up every now and again like a bad penny, but it’s just easier to pretend he don’t exist.”  
“Why?” asks Ben.  
“He’s a bully,” says Callum. “He’s got very set ideas on what a ‘real man’ is, and I don’t think I measure up.”  
“Is that why - ” Ben bites off the question he was about to ask. “Don’t matter.”  
“Stuart used to get in between us,” says Callum. “When me dad was tryin’ to give me a thrashin’. Stuart would take it instead.”  
“Yer lucky to have someone like that,” says Ben, sounding wistful. Callum gets the impression he went through something similar with his own dad, though he probably took all the beatings for want of a protective older brother.  
The waitress brings their food, and the sombre mood is broken. They both dig in. One of the women on the neighbouring table leans across, smiling widely, and asks Callum if the paella he’d asked for is worth ordering. He gives her a short answer, resenting her for interrupting his conversation with Ben. When he looks back at the younger man, he’s watching him with an unreadable expression on his face.  
“So,” he says, looking back down at his food. “What d’you do when you ain’t kitchen fittin’, Callum Highway?”  
Callum blows out a breath. “Nothin’ much. To be honest, I don’t really have many mates. Well, not any, really, just Whit and Stuart. Sad, right?”  
“Why? What’s wrong with ya?” asks Ben, grinning at him.  
His grin is infectious. Callum answers it with one of his own, trying but failing to stay serious. He shrugs. “I s’pose I’ve moved around too much, what with being in the army. There was one bloke I was really good mates with but he died, got killed by a landmine. There’s a few I keep in touch with, but we ain’t what you’d call close and I hardly ever see ‘em.”  
Callum’s not sure why he’s sharing so much with Ben. Perhaps it’s because he’s not judging him, and the earnest gaze he’s giving him makes him feel he could say anything. It’s true that he doesn’t really have anyone to open up to. Stuart and Whitney have both got very fixed views of who he is, and it’s good to present his own version of himself to someone who’s got no preconceived ideas.  
Ben swallows his mouthful of pizza. “You should hit me up for a pint sometime. If ya want.” The look on his face is hopeful. He looks young and vulnerable.  
“Yeah,” says Callum. “I might.” Despite his words, he doubts he ever will, and when he sees the look on Ben’s face fade back to indifference, he thinks Ben probably understands that too.  
After a second, Ben laughs to himself. “My best and possibly only real mate is now in a relationship with the mother of me daughter. How’s that for incestuous?”  
“So you must have been with a woman at some point, to have a daughter,” says Callum, frowning.  
Ben snorts. “Top o’ the class, Cal, you understand the birds and the bees.” Callum glares at him, but at the same time, find’s he’s charmed by the familiar way Ben refers to him.  
“The only time I tried it with a woman,” Ben continues, “Lexi was the result.” He waves his fork around to emphasise his next point. “I mean, I wouldn’t have it any other way, she’s a little sweetheart, best thing that ever happened to me, but still. Talk about head-fuck.”  
Callum regards him for a few seconds. He’s not sure he wants to go down this next route, but in for a penny, in for a pound. Tentatively, he asks “How did you know? That you were gay?”  
“At first? I weren’t sure. I just knew I didn’t get as excited about women as everyone else did. I had to make meself show an interest. It all felt like a bit of an effort, you know?”  
Callum realises he’s holding his breath. He breathes out shakily, and nods. He understands. It doesn’t apply to him, but he can see why that might make Ben think he preferred men. For some reason he can’t quite hold Ben’s gaze.  
“I tried to kid meself that I just had a low sex drive, but that weren’t it. Once I discovered blokes, well…” Ben leaves it to Callum’s imagination.  
“But how did you discover it was blokes, for you?” asks Callum, his food forgotten and his fork hanging in mid-air.  
Ben looks a little sheepish at the question. He stares at a point beyond Callum’s shoulder. “I got a bit drunk and kissed me best mate.”  
“What? The best mate who’s now - ?”  
“Yeah, yeah.” Ben rolls his eyes as if he’s well aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. “The best mate who’s now goin’ out with the mother of me daughter.”  
Callum snorts, and Ben glances at him, sharing his amusement. “You couldn’t make it up, could ya?”  
“So, d’you still fancy ‘im?” asks Callum.  
“Who? Jay?” Ben looks scandalised. “God no! He’s a weasily, whiny little runt. I like to think my standards have risen a bit since then but, you know, any port in a storm.”  
Callum laughs at Ben’s description of his mate. “So, what’s yer type then?”  
“Tall, dark and handsome,” says Ben without hesitation, looking directly into his eyes.  
Callum stops laughing. Suddenly the atmosphere is awkward again. “Well, I’m two of them, I s’pose.”  
“What? You don’t think yer handsome?” asks Ben. “Have you seen yerself lately, Cal?”  
Callum frowns. It feels like they’re on dangerous territory now. “I thought you was gonna lay off the innuendo,” he says.  
“That weren’t…” Ben starts to protest, but then shakes his head and shoves more pizza in his mouth. He looks down at his plate as he chews.  
The women next to them have just had their food served. Callum leans across to the one he’d spoken to before and asks her if she’s made the right choice. She smiles back at him and they strike up a conversation.  
When the conversation dries up and Callum glances back at Ben, he’s looking sad.  
“I don’t reckon Whitney would approve of you chattin’ up other women, Cal.”  
Callum scoffs. “I weren’t. Just bein’ polite.”  
Ben looks like he doesn’t believe him, and Callum colours under his gaze. Without warning, Ben reaches across and puts a hand on his arm.  
“It’s OK to be scared,” he says. “I was, when I first realised what I really wanted.”  
Callum moves his arm. “I dunno what you mean.”  
Something shuts down in Ben’s face. He sits back and folds his arms. To Callum, it looks like he’s hugging himself. “OK, forget it.”

SIX  
If he was pressed, Callum might admit that he enjoys their weekend together. They work quickly, finishing up on site late on the Saturday, but the day is full of chatter and laughter. Now that Ben’s agreed to lay off the innuendo he’s an entertaining companion, quick-witted and funny, and Callum finds that the day flies past. The awkwardness of their conversation from the previous evening is forgotten, and they trade confidences on their pasts; their likes and dislikes; even their feelings, interspersed with curses when a bolt won’t fit precisely into its housing, or an edging strip buckles as they’re fitting it.  
Callum’s never had that kind of openness before. In his family, you zip yourself up tight and you don’t go near messy stuff like emotions if you can help it. He suspects Ben’s experience might be the same, but they seem to have found an outlet in each other, and so it all comes pouring out. By the end of the day, he feels like he knows Ben better than he knows Whit.  
She’d texted a few times, and he’d replied with brief one or two-word answers. When at last she’d asked him why he was being so off with her, he’d phoned her in his lunch-break and explained that he was working fast to try and finish everything off in one day. Then she’d asked if that meant he would be coming home for the Sunday, and he’d hardly felt guilty at all as he told her it would be too much travelling and he needed a break. She had not sounded happy.  
The fact is, he was looking forward to a day off away from the Square. It felt like a mini-holiday, and he wanted to spend time with Ben. There was nothing sexual in it. He didn’t fancy the bloke, of course not, but he liked being around him, and the world seemed a little lighter when the pair of them were together.  
In the event, they’d done only mundane things on the Sunday, like finding a launderette so they could get their clothes cleaned for the week ahead and then getting some lunch together before heading off towards Manchester, but even that had felt like light relief from his normal life.

The arrival of the rest of the lads on the Monday morning feels a little like a bubble is bursting. Stuart is in a foul mood still, only now he’s suffering from a cold, letting out explosive sneezes at regular intervals and groaning as he wipes his nose with a sound like the QE2 docking in harbour.  
The rest of them are hardly in a better mood. Keanu complains as soon as he gets out of the van that he’s brassic, and payday on Friday can’t come soon enough. Martin Fowler and Tubbs agree.  
“Don’t think I’ll be doin’ much drinkin’ after work this week,” says Martin Fowler. “Stace had me last twenty quid before I left.”  
“Yup,” says Tubbs. “The coffers are dry. Reckon it’s gonna be telly and early nights this week.”  
“So, how d’ya get on with Ben?” asks Stuart when Callum’s alone with him in their first kitchen of the week.  
“Yeah, alright,” says Callum. “We had quite a laugh, actually.”  
Stuart looks a little put out. “You weren’t there to have a laugh. You get all the work done?”  
“Course, grumpy,” says Callum, rolling his eyes. “What’s up now? Rainie kicked you out, has she?”  
“No,” says Stuart, in a tone that indicates that Callum’s just said something stupid. “And just you be careful with Ben Mitchell. You don’t wanna get mixed up with ‘im. You’ve got me and Rainie, and Whit. You’ve got enough friends without someone like ‘im.”  
Callum gets the impression Stuart’s most put out that Callum’s in danger of branching out on his own, making a life for himself independently of Stuart. “You don’t need to worry,” he says, giving Stuart’s cheek an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll still love you even if I’ve got other friends.”  
Stuart slaps his hand away. “Oh, so Mitchell’s a ‘friend’ now, is he?” He gives Callum a calculating stare. “Like I said, be careful around ‘im. He’s bad news.”  
“Who’s bad news?” asks Ben, coming in at the tail-end of the conversation with a roll of edging tape.  
“You, apparently,” says Callum drily, feeling protective of him.  
Ben gives him a cheeky grin. “Well, I try me best.”  
Stuart turns away and lets out another explosive sneeze, followed by a stream of cursing.  
True to their words, all that week after work the lads don’t hang around in the restaurant after eating. On the Monday and Tuesday they all head back to Martin Fowler and Keanu’s to play cards, but by the Wednesday Keanu’s come down with Stuart’s cold and everyone is thoroughly fed up. It hits them all sometimes, the fact that they’re all so far from home and missing loved ones. It’s almost cyclical and usually happens just before payday when they can’t drown out the feelings with one more pint in the restaurant. One of them will start moaning and, before you know it, everyone’s feeling miserable.  
By the Thursday, everyone’s just retreating back to their own rooms after the evening meal. Callum and Ben find some crime drama to watch on telly, and lounge on their beds making comments about the quality of the acting or the ridiculousness of the plot. Ben adds extra comments every now and again about the fact that he can’t see the entire screen from where he is on the fold-out bed. Callum tells him to shut up for the third time, and they watch in silence for a while as a serial killer bumps off victims left, right and centre.  
“Once again, can’t see the telly,” says Ben after a particularly dramatic segment. “I got no idea who just killed that bird cos they was in the top right-hand corner of the screen.”  
“Oh, for god’s sake!” says Callum. “Would you just stop moaning and get over here?”  
As Ben bounds across the room and throws himself onto the bed beside Callum, a big grin on his face like he’s been vindicated, Callum adds, “And I got no idea who killed ‘er either, cos they only showed somebody’s arm. That’s the whole point of a whodunnit, ain’t it?”  
They watch in silence for a while, Callum trying not to nod off and sliding further down the bed until he’s lying on his back.  
Ben is a fidget. Callum’s noticed he always seems to be full of surplus energy, and now he shifts position every few minutes, lying on his side and propping his head up with his hand, kicking his legs out every now and again or scratching his stomach with quick fingers.  
“She looks like your bird,” says Ben as a dark-haired detective comes on the screen.  
“Nah, she don’t,” says Callum. “Not as pretty.”  
“You think Whit’s pretty?” asks Ben, sounding disbelieving.  
“Course she is,” says Callum. “You don’t?”  
Ben turns back to the TV. “She’s alright.”  
“Yeah, but you’re not the target audience, are ya?” asks Callum with a grin. He surprises himself with how OK he is, joking around about Ben’s sexuality.  
“And you are?” retorts Ben. He grins back at Callum, narrowing his eyes as he assesses whether or not he’s managed to embarrass him.  
Callum’s determined not to be affected by him. He stares him out, but then finds his gaze dropping to Ben’s lips, like it did the last time they found themselves in this situation.  
It doesn’t go unnoticed. An intent look appears in Ben’s eyes, and he shuffles a bit closer to Callum. The atmosphere in the room changes abruptly. It’s more serious now. The TV is forgotten as Ben stares into Callum’s eyes and Callum stares back, swallowing hard. Ben’s gaze drops to follow the dip of his adam’s apple, and then flicks back up to his face.  
This is the point at which Callum should make a joke, get off the bed and stand up. He should. He still could, but he doesn’t. He waits, barely breathing, butterflies in his stomach and nothing in his head.  
Ben shifts to lean over him, planting his hand the other side of Callum’s body. Callum can feel his breath on his cheek, and then Ben is gently brushing Callum’s lips with his own.  
He pulls back to assess Callum’s reaction, looking at him intently. Callum doesn’t dare move, and he can hardly breathe. The sensation of Ben’s lips on his has shot straight to his groin and he barely resists the urge to groan. He shuts his eyes, feeling overcome, and feels Ben’s lips on his again, more insistent this time, seeking entry. He opens his mouth to him, and Ben accepts the invitation instantly, licking into his mouth and pulling him closer.  
This is a one-time thing. Callum isn’t into this. He’s just going with it because he’s curious, but it’s definitely a one-time thing. He reaches up a hand to grasp Ben’s face, pulling him even closer, and feeling his stubble rough beneath his fingers. He’s breathing hard into the kiss now as it becomes more heated. Ben has shifted position again so that he’s practically lying across his chest, and he reaches a hand down to massage Callum through his jeans.  
Callum does groan at that, and then instantly freezes, his eyes flying open. Stuart’s only in the room next door. God, if he heard!  
Ben pulls back and stares intently at Callum again. His pupils are blown and he’s breathing heavily. He hasn’t moved his hand. “Tell me if you don’t want this,” he says quietly.  
Callum shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t answer. If he can’t see Ben, it doesn’t count. This is a one-time thing.  
Ben kisses him again, then slides his lips to his jaw. “Tell me,” he whispers into Callum’s ear.  
Callum is hard. So hard. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly, but still doesn’t answer. Ben waits for another couple of seconds, then takes the lack of response as permission. He slides down the bed and rests his head on Callum’s hip, resuming his massaging of Callum through his jeans, carefully tracing the outline of him through the heavy material. Callum throws an arm across his eyes, shutting out the light and focussing solely on the sensations coming from between his legs and the weight of Ben on him.  
Slowly, Ben slides down the zip of Callum’s jeans and slips his fingers inside. At his touch, Callum jolts and bites back another groan, then Ben flips open the button on Callum’s jeans and pulls them roughly down his thighs. Callum is frozen with mortification in the split second before Ben uncovers his cock, but he hears the younger man take in a sharp breath and utter a whispered God! as it springs free.  
This is a one-time thing. Callum can have this. He doesn’t need to feel shame.  
“Beautiful,” says Ben in a husky voice, his fingers closing around Callum’s length. Callum uncovers his eyes and looks down at him. Ben is staring right into his soul as he jacks him off, then he lowers his head and takes him into his mouth in one smooth movement. Callum’s whole body jerks at the combination of the sensation and the sight, and Ben quickly puts his forearm across his hips, anchoring him in place.  
Callum has never felt anything like it in his life. Ben’s mouth is warm and tight and, though he hates thinking it, more talented than the only other person who’s done this for him, and Callum feels like he could explode at any second. He reminds himself that this is a one-time thing.  
Ben is bobbing up and down on Callum, taking him in a few inches at a time, but then he leans further over him and swallows him down effortlessly. Callum moans. He stuffs his hand in his mouth to stop it happening again, but even the thought of Stuart hearing him from the next room isn’t enough for him to call a halt to this. He’s too far gone. His fingers scrabble at the duvet and he breathes in laboured gasps.  
Ben hums around him and the feeling is almost too intense. He’s pulling out all the stops, like he, too, realises this is a one-time thing. He pulls off Callum’s cock for a second and Callum could almost weep at the lack of him. “Please,” he whispers, forgetting his words but desperate for Ben to continue doing what he was doing. “Please?”  
Ben jacks him a couple of times before taking him into his mouth again, and this time he has an end point in mind. He blows him mercilessly, taking him to a point where the feelings are so incredible Callum loses all control. He’s choking on his breath. He’s jerking up into Ben’s mouth and Ben is letting him, holding himself still while Callum fucks into him, and then Callum can feel his release nearing.  
“Gonna - ”  
He tries to warn Ben that he’s near, but the words won’t come and Ben shows no signs of pulling off him. He teases Callum’s slit with his tongue, and it’s enough to tip Callum over the edge. He grunts with the effort of staying silent while he comes, and watches with awe as Ben takes nearly all of it, just a tiny dribble emerging from the corner of his mouth.  
Ben lets him drop from his mouth, and they lie in silence for a minute as Callum’s breathing returns to normal, then Ben delicately covers him up. He’s gentle with him, considerate, and then he kneels at Callum’s feet, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. Callum can see that he’s hard. He’s flushed and breathless, and he throws a quick glance up at Callum as if he’s trying to gauge his mood. Callum busies himself with pulling his jeans up and re-fastening them.  
“I’m just gonna- ” Ben waves his hand in the direction of the bathroom. “Gonna go and sort meself out.”  
As the bathroom door closes behind him, Callum is hit with a tide of regret so huge it’s almost like a physical blow to his chest. What the hell has got into him? How the fuck did he let that just happen? That man, helpless and desperate and out of control? That is not who he is.  
He stands up and quickly strips down to his boxers and t-shirt, and then slides under the covers and turns his back to the bathroom door. The other side of the bed is still warm from where Ben was lying on the cover. The light in the room flickers as the images on the TV change. On the screen, the dark-haired detective is standing at a graveside.  
Ben comes back into the room a few minutes later and hesitates for a second or two before heading across to the pull-out bed.  
“You OK?” he asks in a low voice.  
“This was a one-time thing,” exclaims Callum, pulling the covers up over his head. His eyes are filling with tears, and he stuffs his hand in his mouth again, this time to prevent himself from sobbing.  
Across the room, Ben clicks off the TV and doesn’t answer. Callum can hear him removing his jeans, preparing for sleep.  
Callum tries to stay silent, but he lets out a loud sniff, and then Ben pads across the room and sits on the side of his bed. He switches on the headboard light, and gently pulls the covers back from over Callum’s head.  
“You need to talk about this,” he says in a soft voice.  
Callum wipes his cheeks roughly with his hand, and sniffs again. He shakes his head slowly and avoids Ben’s gaze.  
“Have I fucked up?” asks Ben.  
“No,” says Callum in a choked voice. He takes a deep breath. “No, you ain’t done anything wrong. I wanted it.”  
“So, I must be worse than I realised at blowjobs then,” says Ben, in a voice that lets Callum know he’s teasing.  
Callum huffs out a laugh from between his tears. He chances a look up at Ben. The muted light is sculpting his features into sharp relief, but his eyes are soft. He reaches out a hand and brushes the hair back from Callum’s forehead, and Callum’s never experienced such a tender gesture before. It should feel wrong that it comes from this man in front of him, but the combination of masculinity and softness intrigue Callum more than he cares to admit to himself. He needs comfort in that moment, and he lets himself take it from Ben. His whole world is crashing down around him. All the tight control he’s kept over himself for years has suddenly collapsed, and he feels washed out and stunned.  
“C’mere,” says Ben. When Callum looks up at him with confused eyes, he beckons to him to sit up, and then holds him in a tight embrace, stroking a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck. Callum lets himself dissolve into him, tucking his face into his neck. He smells of fading aftershave and an undefinable scent of Ben.  
“It’s gonna be OK, you know,” says Ben. “I promise ya.”  
“It ain’t,” says Callum, sniffing again. “How can this be OK? Me dad would kill me if he knew what I just done. Stuart’d kill me!” He glances across at the wall dividing their room from Stuart’s, suddenly feeling panicky.  
Ben pulls back to look him in the eyes. “It don’t matter what they think. It’s just about what feels right for you.”  
Callum shakes his head sadly. “I can’t be like this. I can’t.”  
“You might not have much of a choice,” says Ben gently. “Listen, lie down. Get some sleep. It’ll all seem better in the mornin’.”  
Callum does as he’s told, curling up on his side. Ben stands up, and then Callum feels the covers lift and the mattress dip as Ben climbs in behind him.  
“What you - !”  
“I ain’t after no funny business,” says Ben. “Just gonna stay here with ya tonight. Tell me if you don’t want me to.”  
Callum shouldn’t want this, but he can’t find it in himself to object. “Nah, ’s fine,” he says tiredly.  
Ben turns out the light and settles behind him, sliding an arm around his chest to anchor him in place. Callum is tense. He thinks there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep, but eventually he finds himself being soothed by the sound of Ben breathing and the rise and fall of the younger man’s chest against his back. There’s a part of him wants this so badly. Just for tonight, he can let himself be weak. He turns around in Ben’s embrace and slides an arm around his waist, their legs tangling together. The last thing he remembers before he falls asleep is a soft kiss on his forehead. 

SEVEN  
The covers are tickling his chin. He feels too-warm, and the duvet is weighted down behind him so that he can’t shift it. He hears the sound of the flush in the neighbouring room, and drifts a little closer to full consciousness. There’s a slight movement behind him in the bed. Whit.  
He lies quietly, delaying the moment when he’s going to have to open his eyes and start the day. He tunes in to the sound of Whit breathing in her sleep. A car door suddenly slams outside, and he opens his eyes with a start. It’s all coming back to him. He’s still away. He’s in a hotel room. Whit isn’t here.  
His heart feels heavy with dread. He shifts round in the bed as quietly as he can, careful not to disturb the other occupant. Ben.  
The younger man is still fast asleep with his hand cupping his cheek on the pillow. He looks young and innocent, but Callum knows that to be a lie. He’s sin, and Callum can’t allow himself to be tempted again.  
He starts to wriggle slowly towards the other edge of the bed and then makes his way on tiptoes to the bathroom, picking up the day’s clothes on the way. It’s still only half-light; he’s feeling his way around the room and peering hard into his bag to make out what he needs from it. After a few minutes in the bathroom, washed and dressed, he gently picks up his phone from the bedside table and heads for the door. Ben stirs in his sleep as he reaches it, and he freezes. The younger man turns onto his back and flings an arm above his head, snuffling a little, and then settling once more. He hasn’t noticed the lack of Callum in the bed. He’s oblivious.  
Callum opens the door, flinching at the sound of the electronic lock releasing. Once in the corridor, he inches it closed with as little noise as possible, and heads off to the lift. He has no idea where he’s going. He just knows he needs to be out of there before Ben wakes up. He glances at his phone. It’s only ten to six. Most of the lads won’t be stirring for at least another half an hour or more.  
The reception area is quiet when he emerges from the lift. The night receptionist is still on duty, and he smiles a greeting at Callum. He looks a bit camp, and Callum walks past him and out of the building quickly, panicking that the man sees something in Callum that wasn’t there before last night; wondering if he smiled a bit wider at him than he would at anyone else. Callum’s filled with horror at the thought that people can see it about him. The thing he did last night. In a moment of weakness. With a man.  
It’s cold outside. He pulls his jacket around himself and hugs his arms to his chest, his action as much about comforting himself as it is about keeping himself warm. He recalls from previous nights that there’s an outdoor seating area outside the restaurant across the car park, and heads across to find a bench to sit on. It’s out of sight of anyone crossing the car park and he welcomes the seclusion. He needs to be on his own right now. He can hardly bear his own company, let alone anyone else’s. Inside the restaurant, through the windows illuminated against the murky dawn, kitchen workers are preparing for the breakfast serving but no one notices him outside, or if they do, they leave him to it.  
He’s done for. If anyone finds out what he did, he’ll lose Whit, Stuart, everyone who matters to him in the world. Stuart will tell his dad, and then he’ll never hear the end of it. How his dad always knew he wasn’t a real man. How he’d always suspected the friendship that Callum had with his mate in the army was way too close to be natural. How all the beatings he’d given him were justified, but clearly not enough to beat it out of him.  
Callum thinks back to his time in the army, and now it all clicks into place. Chris made the world feel a little lighter for Callum, just like Ben has, but Callum had no idea why. They connected on such a deep level but he thought it was just what friendship looked like. He hadn’t had much experience of it, so when he found someone who made him feel like he was the most interesting person in the world, he blossomed, starting to believe him. His own world felt a little like it had ended for a few months when Chris died.  
His blood suddenly runs cold. He remembers an evening in the mess playing cards with Chris, the two of them in their own little bubble in the corner as everyone else played raucous truth or dare games. Callum can’t remember what had just been said, but Chris had paused before dealing the next hand and stared at him intently, expectantly. Callum had stared back, wide-eyed and clueless, until eventually Chris had laughed and shaken his head.  
Never mind. Oblivious as usual, aren’t you Cal? Bless you. Maybe one day…  
It was only a few days after that that Chris had gone out on patrol and never come back.  
Chris had been trying to tell him, hadn’t he? He was like Ben. If he was, he had at least had the decency not to push the issue. Not like Ben. The younger man was predatory. He’d taken advantage of Callum’s moment of weakness last night. Callum knew he picked blokes up in clubs, had sex in toilets. He obviously wasn’t fussy. What was it he’d said about kissing his mate? Any port in a storm? Callum’s huge crisis is just a bit of fun for Ben, a way to while away a few empty minutes.  
Callum feels sick. He feels like he’s been made a fool of. The only saving grace about this whole sorry mess is that it’s Friday today; if he can just endure the day he’ll be heading home tonight and back to Whit, where he belongs. He can regroup and when he gets back on Monday he’ll have built his walls up high again. Ben won’t be able to get anywhere near him.  
He’s starting to shiver from the cold. He gets up and heads back round into the car park, only to run into Martin Fowler, who’s heading into the restaurant.  
“You’re up early,” says Martin Fowler.  
“You too,” says Callum, moderating his voice to keep the panic out of it.”  
“Y’alright?” asks Martin Fowler, peering closely at him.  
Callum wills himself not to blush, but without success. “Yeah. Why?”  
“You just look a bit…put out,” says Martin Fowler. “Comin’ in for brekkie?”  
“Nah, I…” suddenly an idea occurs to Callum. “Yeah, actually, I will. Got sommat to ask ya.”

Once he’s eaten and sorted out what he needs to with Martin Fowler, he heads back to his room. He passes Ben just as he’s getting to the lift, and the younger man approaches him with a soft smile, but then his features set into their normal urban insolence when he sees that Callum has no intention of speaking to him. Beforehand, Callum thinks maybe he catches a quick flash of hurt in the younger man’s eyes. He tells himself it was just a trick of the light. People like Ben Mitchell do not get hurt.  
Back in his room, he sets about shoving all his belongings into his bag. He’s working quickly, determined not to be there when Ben returns. The duvet on the bed is folded back neatly. There’s no evidence that anything untoward might have happened in that bed last night. Ben’s bag is on top of it, already packed and waiting to be stowed in the back of the van.  
Callum is collecting up his various items of clothing that have been discarded around the room in the course of the week when the electronic lock whirrs and the door opens. Ben comes into the room and leans against the door once it’s swung closed, his hands behind his back and an uncertain look on his face. Callum ignores him, although he can’t ignore the way his heart starts to beat faster.  
“You OK?” asks Ben.  
“Fine,” answers Callum, hurriedly folding a pair of jeans.  
“You, uh… you don’t wanna talk about it?”  
“Nothin’ to talk about,” says Callum.  
Ben shifts position, sizing him up, waiting for him to make eye contact. Callum continues to ignore him.  
“So, you’re not havin’ some big sexual identity crisis then?” asks Ben.  
His tone is flippant. Callum rounds on him. “Is this funny to ya, Ben? This how you get yer kicks, is it, seducin’ straight blokes?”  
“Seducin’...?” Ben’s voice drops to barely more than a whisper. “Is that what yer tellin’ yerself happened last night?”  
“Well, isn’t it?”  
Ben moves towards him, a beseeching look on his face, and when Callum raises his hands to ward him off, he stops a step or two away from him.  
“No, it ain’t what happened,” says Ben. “You know it ain’t.” He folds his arms around himself, like he does when he’s feeling vulnerable. Callum hates that he knows that about him.  
“All I know is that you pick blokes up in clubs,” he says. “You have sex in toilets, and you tried to seduce yer best mate. Who happens to be straight. So, you know - it ain’t like you ain’t got form, Ben.”  
Ben is looking astounded. He opens his mouth to refute Callum’s accusations, but then thinks better of it. A closed-off look comes across his face, and he crosses to the bed to pick up his bag. He heads for the door and then stops before opening it.  
“I’m here for ya, Cal. Once you stop playin’ the victim, I’ll be here to help ya. But for now, you can just fuck off!”  
The words hit Callum like a punch, and as Ben disappears out of the door, letting it slam behind himself, Callum sinks down onto the bed. He feels like crying, but berates himself for being an idiot. He sniffs hard, then rolls his shoulders back and stands up to resume packing his bag. He’s had years of perfecting the illusion that he’s OK, he can do it again. He ignores the voice in his head that says it feels harder to do it this time around. 

The drive home is almost unbearable. It had been easy to ignore Ben when they were working, but being squeezed up beside him in a van for four hours is like an endurance test. The mood is sombre, and very few words are spoken. Stuart seems to be regaining his normal cheer now that his cold’s wearing off, so he tries to get some conversation going, but when nobody’s inclined to join in he gives up and puts the radio on instead. He fiddles around trying to find a decent station, but settles in the end for some Friday night big band programme on Radio Two.  
“You alright bruv?” he asks eventually, as ‘Bewitched, bothered and bewildered’ is playing.  
“Fine,” says Callum tersely. “Might be comin’ down with your cold.”  
“Ah, that’ll be it,” says Stuart. “Thought you was quiet.”  
Beside Callum, Ben sighs quietly. When they reach Albert Square he jumps out of the van, grabs his bag from the back and heads off with a muttered “See ya.”  
“Whassa matter with him?” asks Stuart, staring after him with a look of disgust on his face.  
“No idea,” says Callum. He is NOT feeling bereft as Ben walks away and out of sight.  
“Maybe he’s comin’ down with a cold too,” says Stuart. “No excuse for rudeness though, is it?”  
“I’ve gotta go, Stu,” says Callum, grabbing his own bag and backing away in the direction of Whit’s.  
“Give Whit one from me,” calls Stuart as he retreats.  
Callum grimaces at him, and begins the long walk across the Square to Whitney’s.  
Whit’s caught up in wedding plans. They’re only a couple of months or so away from the big day, and apparently there’s plenty to do. Callum feels a bit guilty that he’s leaving it all to her, and wonders if he should take some holiday to help out nearer the time. It’s only going to be a small affair anyway – seven or eight of her family and just Stuart and Rainie on his side. They’re going for a meal after the registry office ceremony, but apparently even that involves a lot of planning, what with flowers and menus and wine to go with each course and the like, plus the dresses for Whit and the bridesmaids, and the buttonholes for Callum and Stuart. Callum doesn’t quite see what all the fuss is about, but then he guesses it’s supposed to be special for Whit, not for him.  
That weekend they argue. A lot. Silly little things that shouldn’t matter, but it seems that his previous weekend away has upset the balance of their relationship. It doesn’t help that when they have sex, Ben Mitchell is all he can think about. It makes him irritable. And then he becomes irritable that Whit isn’t Ben. Then he gets annoyed at himself for even thinking such a thing, and annoyed at Ben for leaving him in this no-man’s land of uncertainty and self-loathing. Whitney can’t do right for doing wrong, but it seems she’s preoccupied too.  
Things come to a head on the Sunday morning when they’re wandering hand in hand over to the Minute Mart for a few groceries, and Whit says idly, “D’you ever think we’ve rushed the marriage thing, Cal?”  
Callum frowns, and tightens his grip on her hand. “What? No! Why? D’you?”  
She’s silent for a long while. He stops walking and pulls her round to face him, fighting down panic. Whit is what’s keeping him safe from all the other stuff. He can’t lose her. “Are you breakin’ up with me, Whit?”  
She bites her lip, and her face relaxes into a smile just a fraction of a second too late. “No, course not. I mean I just don’t get the impression you’re as keen on the marriage thing as I am. You’ve seemed a bit…off, lately”  
He scoffs. “I ain’t ‘off’. Just tired with all the travellin’.”  
“Is that all it is?” she asks him as they resume walking.  
“Yeah, course. Why? You havin’ doubts?”  
As they’re about to enter the Minute Mart, Ben comes out, a shopping bag in his hand. Callum’s heart begins pounding. Ben looks at them both but doesn’t speak and turns sharp left to head back to his house.  
Whitney stops on the threshold of the shop and stares after him. “I thought the two of you was mates, Cal.”  
“Nah, we ain’t mates, only work colleagues,” says Callum, trying to still his racing heart. He pulls Whitney round to face him and kisses her. “And more importantly, you have to marry me, Whitney Dean, cos you make me a whole person who’s fit for human society.”  
“Aww, ain’t you romantic?” says Whitney.  
She steps ahead of him into the shop, and he glances behind himself before following her. Ben glances back towards him at the same time. His eyes are cold, and empty of emotion.  
EIGHT  
Callum can’t wait to be away from Walford again, but then he doesn’t want to be hurtling up the motorway back to the outskirts of Manchester for the second of the four weeks they’re scheduled to be there, either.  
He’d exchanged minimal greetings with Ben, who still seemed to be in a strop, when they all arrived at the van on the Monday morning, and had busied himself with telling Stuart about Whit’s plans for the wedding. Beside him, he could feel Ben silently judging him, his disapproval almost tangible.  
When they’re on the road and about an hour away from their destination, Stuart pulls into a service station.  
“Sorry lads, need a whazz. Won’t be long.”  
Callum and Ben sit in an awkward silence waiting for him to return, until eventually Ben stirs.  
“Listen, I’m sorry. About Friday. Things got a bit outta hand, didn’t they? I shoulda bin a bit more sympathetic.”  
“It don’t matter,” says Callum. He’s been working on his immunity from Ben over the weekend. He’s fine now. Everything’s regained a normal perspective and he’s got it sorted.  
Ben lays a hand on his arm. “Let me make it up to ya. Please?”  
Callum scoffs and pushes his hand away. “What? With a repeat performance? Nah, thanks. I don’t need anythin’ like that.”  
He sees the hope fade from Ben’s eyes. Good. He’s got the message.  
“I weren’t suggestin’ - ”  
“I ain’t like you, Ben. Leave me alone, right?”  
Ben seems to shrink back in his seat. He sighs. “Right. If that’s what you want.”  
“It is.” Callum widens the gap between them by inching further away from him. “We can be civil at work, but I don’t want anything else from ya. Oh, and yer sharing with Martin Fowler this week. I’m goin’ in with Keanu.”  
He stares straight ahead out of the windscreen. He can feel Ben’s eyes on him but he doesn’t dare look round at him. From the corner of his eye, he sees that Ben’s slowly shaking his head.  
“What? You think I’m gonna jump you in yer sleep, Cal? Is that what yer scared of? Or you scared you might like it again?”  
“Shut up!”  
“Cos I seem to remember you beggin’ for it - ”  
“SHUT UP!”  
Callum rounds on him, eyes blazing, infuriated by the cocky grin that appears on Ben’s face now he’s provoked a reaction. “I ain’t like you, so leave me alone. You hear me?”  
“If that’s what you wanna tell yerself, Cal. OK.”  
Callum opens his mouth to respond but Stuart picks that moment to return to the van. He opens the door and stares at both of them with a puzzled look on his face. “Everythin’ alright, lads?”  
“Yeah,” says Ben. “Just getting’ a few things straight, weren’t we Cal?”

A strange thing happens as the week wears on. Callum feels much more at ease now he’s sharing a hotel room with Keanu although, if he’s honest, the conversation leaves a lot to be desired. He doesn’t have to be so careful of words or actions that might give him away, but now that he’s away from the eye of the storm other feelings start bubbling to the surface. He finds himself missing the banter he used to have with Ben and notes with a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach that Ben and Martin Fowler seem to be getting on like a house on fire.  
At lunch on the Tuesday, Callum is horrified to realise that he’s spent the last five minutes staring into space and recollecting the moment when Ben had gone down on him. He blushes, and glances around to check no one’s noticed him zoning out.  
Ben is respecting his boundaries, only speaking when spoken to and never initiating any contact in the evenings. Watching him sometimes as he works alone, or when the focus of conversation is away from him, Callum thinks he looks sad, but if ever anyone else is around he’s his usual raucous self, so maybe Callum’s imagined it.  
He isn’t the only one using his powers of observation, however. On the Wednesday afternoon, Stuart suddenly stops what he’s doing and says, “What’s with you and Mitchell not sharin’ a room no more? You had a lover’s tiff?”  
Callum, carrying a short length of worktop across the room at the time, does a double take. “Why would you call it that? Things is a bit awkward at the moment, that’s all.”  
Stuart looks like it’s no more than he expected. “Why, what’s he done now?”  
Callum’d had to endure Ben and Martin Fowler cracking jokes at each other all through their lunch break to the exclusion of anyone else, and he’s getting irritable. “Why would you assume it’s down to him?”  
“Cos he’s a pain in the arse,” says Stuart. “I did tell ya.”  
Despite himself, Callum feels a weird sense of protectiveness about Ben. He’s had time and space to reflect, and if he’s honest, he knows he’s the one who’s messed up. There might even be a bit of guilt creeping in. He resents Stuart assuming he knows things about Ben. He’s just about had enough of it all this week, and the superior look on Stuart’s face is not helping matters. “Yeah, well for your information it weren’t down to him. And I’m a bit sick of the protective older brother act, to be honest Stu. You’re always hangin’ around me like a bad smell.” He almost throws the worktop into place. “Why dontcha worry a bit more about yer own life and leave me alone?”  
He sees the look on Stuart’s face and realises he’s gone too far. His anger is immediately quenched. “Sorry Stu. I’m sorry, really. I’ve got a lot on me mind.”  
No, no,” says Stuart. “I know where I stand now. You’ve made it perfectly clear.” He musters his dignity and wanders off in search of more sealant, passing Ben coming in as he goes out.  
“Everything OK?” asks Ben.  
Callum flings down the tape measure he’d just picked up, and wipes his hand over his eyes. “Define OK,” he says.  
Ben is still wary around him. He takes a couple of steps closer and asks tentatively, “Wanna talk about it?”  
Callum scoffs and peers round at him. “You still wanna help me, after I’ve been a git to ya?”  
“What can I say? I’ve got a thing for gits,” says Ben with a shrug, and Callum huffs out a laugh despite himself. He’s missed this Ben, the one who’s flippant and funny and makes life just a bit easier. The one who’s focus is Callum, not Martin bleedin’ Fowler.  
“You seem to be gettin’ cosy with Martin Fowler these days,” he says before he can stop himself.  
Ben looks at him quizzically, then narrows his eyes, his head tipped to one side. “Well,” he says slowly. “That’s cos we’re havin’ mad passionate sex every night in me hotel room.”  
Callum almost bites, before he realises Ben is making fun of him. “Yeah, very funny.”  
“Steady, Cal,” says Ben. “You almost sound jealous.”  
Callum shakes his head wearily. “I ain’t jealous, alright?”  
“No?” asks Ben. He’s grinning, and Callum tries not to reciprocate, but Ben’s grin is infectious and he struggles to keep a straight face.  
“No, course not.”  
“Ah, course not. Must be my mistake, then.”  
“Wishful thinkin’, mate,” says Callum, feeling butterflies in his stomach and a load lifting off his shoulders.  
They maintain eye contact for a while, both still smiling. Ben’s eyes are very, very blue.  
“So,” says Ben. “If I promise not to mention the you-know-what -.” He pretends to cough as he adds Huge sexual identity crisis, “D’ya think we might be OK?”  
Callum breathes in a deep breath and lets it out again in a long sigh. “Yeah,” he says. “Think we might be.” He’s sick of fighting it, to be honest. He just wants to forget about it for a while and have a bit of fun with someone he gets on with. Maybe Ben’s not the enemy, after all, if they can just put what happened behind them.  
“Good,” says Ben, as if they’ve just struck a business deal. “There’s a massive retail park just outside of town that I need to get to. Gotta get a present for Lexi’s birthday. Wanna come tomorrow night?”  
“Yeah, I’d like that,” says Callum. He picks up his tape and measures out the correct length of worktop. “Still can’t get me head around the fact that you’ve got a daughter.”  
“No?” asks Ben. “Well, you know, us gays get up to all sorts. Some of us even get married, Cal. Imagine that!” He widens his eyes in mock horror.  
“Shut up,” says Callum. “If you’re gonna start again - ”  
Ben holds his hands up. “Sorry, sorry! I shan’t say another word. Wanna get food out tomorrow too?”  
Callum gives him a hard stare then flashes him a smile. “Yeah, go on then.”

Now that they’ve broken the ice, Callum’s brain goes into overdrive. He catches himself during the evening meal staring at Ben’s mouth and remembering how it felt when he was kissing it. Then, during his second pint of the evening, he remembers how gentle Ben was with him after he’d come. Every time he realises what he’s doing his heart-rate speeds up and he glances furtively around to check no one’s noticed that there’s anything amiss. During a particularly boring monologue from Stuart, Ben catches his eye and smiles sweetly at him. He returns the smile until he realises they’ve probably been staring at each other for far longer than is acceptable. He dips his head and switches his gaze to his pint, aware that Ben’s still looking over at him. It causes his pulse to quicken and butterflies to stir in his stomach again. He should be disgusted with himself, but he can’t help it. He almost feels like he wants to just go with it, to see where it takes him. He’s got a girlfriend; he’s getting married, so it can’t take him very far. There’ll always be a way back to safety.

They persuade Stuart that they can be trusted with the van the next evening, and set off for the retail park Ben had researched on his phone. Ben leaves the driving to Callum, and on the way regales him with stories about his little girl. By the time they reach the retail park, Callum’s left with the impression that Lexi could be any number of things before she gets very much older, ranging from artist to teacher to politician. The love Ben has for her shines out, and it presents another side to Ben himself that Callum’s only had hints of so far. He’s mystified as to why Stuart thinks Ben Mitchell is such bad news.  
Ben takes the business of choosing a Barbie doll and accessory set for Lexi very seriously indeed when they get to the shop, and Callum stands back and watches him, feeling something suspiciously like fondness.  
“You see, this one,” says Ben, holding up a garish blue and pink monstrosity, “This one’s glam Barbie, and who doesn’t want a bit of glam in their lives, eh Cal?”  
Callum shakes his head, smiling softly.  
“Why you lookin’ at me like that?” asks Ben.  
“Like what?”  
“Like you wanna - .” Ben seems to check himself, and his own smile fades from his face. “Don’t matter. C’mon, let’s go and pay.”  
Purchase made, they go in search of food, and end up at a Tex-Mex place. It’s busy, and they can hardly hear themselves talk. Callum sinks two pints in very quick succession, causing Ben to frown at him and ask if everything’s OK.  
“Yeah, fine,” says Callum. “Just glad to be away from kitchens and brothers and another night in that bleedin’ restaurant. You know I think I’ve eaten every single thing off the menu? Every place we go, the menu’s the same.”  
“Yeah, it does get a bit borin’” concedes Ben. He narrows his eyes at Callum. “Guess this means I’m drivin’ back then?”  
“Yeah. Sorry.” Callum knocks back the dregs of his second pint, and stares across the table at Ben, trying to remember why he thought the younger man was the enemy.  
“Yer doin’ that thing again,” says Ben.  
Callum frowns.  
“Lookin’ at me in that way again,” supplies Ben.  
“What way?” asks Callum, trying not to let his gaze flicker away from Ben.  
Ben takes his time about answering, licking his fingers to clean them of the guacamole on the nachos he’s been demolishing. Callum’s heartbeat does not speed up at the sight. “Well, from where I’m sittin’, you’ve either got a bad case of indigestion, or you’ve stopped beatin’ yerself up about that thing we did together the other night.” He raises his eyebrows, as if challenging Callum to come clean.  
Callum’s had two pints within less than an hour. His filters are well and truly down, and he’s feeling nicely mellow. “Well, I ain’t got indigestion,” he says, with a slightly bleary smile.  
Ben tips his head to the side. “Interesting to know,” he says. He nods approvingly to himself, and carries on digging into his nachos.  
They don’t stay long at the restaurant. Callum’s antsy about getting the van back in one piece, and there’s a residual streak of worry that the others might start asking questions if he stays out with Ben too long. No one’s indicated they’ve got the slightest suspicion about them, but Callum’s paranoia doesn’t need any evidence to feed on.  
They’re over halfway back to the hotel when Ben checks the rear-view mirror and then swings the van across the road and into a layby.  
“What you doin’?” asks Callum.  
“Stoppin’ to look at the view,” says Ben. He parks at right-angles to the road so they can gaze out over the lights of Manchester at the bottom of the escarpment they’re stopped on. Callum can’t deny, it’s some view. “I spotted this when you drove past before,” says Ben, by way of explanation.  
There are few cars passing them on the road, and the sun’s almost set now. There are just a couple of last streaks of light in the sky making the clouds appear darker, like they’re pressing down on the earth. The two of them take off their seat-belts and sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the clicks and creaks of the van engine cooling down, and then Ben shifts round in his seat in one of those abrupt surges of energy that are peculiar to him.  
He reaches up a hand and softly strokes Callum’s cheek, then leans across and kisses him.  
“Ben - ” Callum begins, dipping his head. His heart is racing.  
“I know, I know,” says Ben, pulling back a little, his eyes bright as they traverse Callum’s face. “You’ve got a girlfriend.” He smiles a little sadly. “She ain’t here though, is she? And this can’t hurt, can it?”  
Callum thinks it can probably hurt a lot, but he’s been drinking and his defences are down. Ben’s lips are back on his jaw, and he always has lacked will-power. He turns his head to kiss Ben’s mouth, and the silent evening is filled with the sounds of their lips smacking together. Callum allows himself to relax into it, eyes falling shut, and savours the taste of Ben on his tongue. He shouldn’t want this but he just can’t maintain his immunity to the younger man, and it feels somehow like everything’s right in the world again.  
Eventually, Ben pulls back with a contented sigh and wriggles round in his seat again so that he can rest his head on Callum’s shoulder. After a few seconds’ hesitation, Callum puts his arm around him. If this had been Whit here with him, he’d have said it was romantic. It’s Ben though, and Callum’s not sure what words he can use to describe this.  
A car heads past them with a pneumatic hiss of tyres on tarmac, its headlights illuminating the cab of their van for a second or two before it disappears round the bend in the road. Callum sighs. “We should get back.”  
“No hurry,” murmurs Ben. “Let’s just enjoy the moment.”  
They sit quietly for so long that Callum’s lulled almost to sleep, watching the twinkling lights of the city below them and listening to Ben’s rhythmic breathing, feeling his warmth against his side. He wonders vaguely if this is what happiness feels like. He’s had so little of it, he’s not sure. Maybe it’s just the alcohol making its presence felt.  
Eventually, despite feeling like he could stay there forever in a world where no one exists but the two of them, his sense of duty gets the better of him.  
“We really should go, Ben. Stuart’ll be wonderin’ what’s happened to the van.”  
The younger man doesn’t answer, but heaves a sigh and twists to put his seat-belt back on. He starts up the van again and reverses out onto the road. They drive off in silence. As they get closer to the hotel, Callum can hear Ben humming quietly under his breath. He feels unaccountably sad, and clears his throat before he trusts himself to speak.  
“What’s that song you’re hummin’?” he asks.  
In answer, Ben begins singing softly instead. “Bewitched, bothered and bewildered, am I…” He flicks on the indicator and changes down the gears, ready to turn into the road their hotel is located on. “Ella Fitzgerald, greatest singer this earth has ever known.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah, I’m tellin’ ya.”  
Callum smiles miserably in the dark. “Yer an old romantic, ain’t ya, Ben Mitchell?”  
“Sommat like that,” says Ben, in a quiet voice.  
When they pull up in the hotel car park, Ben makes no move to get out of the van, and so neither does Callum. They sit in silence again, only now they’re not touching. Callum longs to reach out and put his arm around the younger man again, but he knows it’s not a good idea. Not here.  
Ben clears his throat eventually. “So…uh. So, can we go back to sharin’ a room next week?”  
Callum’s missed him. He knows that it’s not just going to be sharing a room. It’s going to mark a new stage in their relationship. Friendship. Whatever this is. But maybe he can have this for a while. Just until the wedding, while they’re away from home where the rules can be different.  
Ben peers round at him in the dark. Callum can just make out the silhouette of his cheek in the light thrown by the hotel sign behind them.  
“Yeah,” he says, quietly defeated. “Course.” 

NINE  
Tubbs is telling an interminable story about some woman he once had an affair with, and how he hid in the ensuite bathroom and then had to climb down a drainpipe to safety in just his jeans when her boyfriend came home from work early.  
It’s getting late, and Callum is getting restless. The restaurant is practically empty, and the waiting staff are loitering nearby, trying to encourage them all to make a move. They’ve already switched off the lights on the other side of the restaurant. Keanu is finishing his second helping of profiteroles - Callum swears he’s got worms, with the amount of food he puts away every night.  
They always seem to linger longer over their meal on the Monday of every week away. It’s almost as if they’ve all missed each other over the weekend and want to re-establish their camaraderie for the week ahead. This time, though, Callum just wants to get back to his room. Their room.  
Ben is staring silently into the remnants of his pint, swirling the liquid in his glass round and round, and smiling indulgently to himself every now and then at Tubbs’ story. He hasn’t looked at Callum once in the last hour or so, and Callum’s feeling uncertain. Maybe Ben’s changed his mind. Maybe he went out on the pull at the weekend and found someone who can give him everything he needs, not just a part of themselves, like Callum.  
“Right, well,” says Martin Fowler, slapping his hands against his thighs when Tubbs’ story is finally finished. “I’m turnin’ in. I’m fuckin’ knackered.”  
“Yeah, me too,” says Ben instantly, jumping to his feet. The butterflies in Callum’s stomach take flight for the umpteenth time that evening.  
“You’d better hurry up and finish them profiteroles, fat lad,” says Stuart to Keanu. “We’re gonna leave ya here otherwise.”  
“Fat lad?” says Keanu through a mouthful. “Look who’s talkin’!” He licks the last of the chocolate sauce from his spoon and throws it down in the dish.  
They all take their leave of the waiting staff with a scraping of chairs on the tiled restaurant floor and noisy goodbyes, and head back across the car park to the hotel, Stuart grabbing Keanu in a headlock and Tubbs and Martin Fowler trading loud insults about their respective football teams. Ben chips in every now and again, and Callum trails along behind them all, wondering what the hell he’s walking into.  
Over the weekend back in Walford, he’d surprised himself with how compartmentalised he’d been able to keep his thoughts. It’s not cheating on Whitney, what he thinks he might be about to do, because it’s not about love or a relationship. It’s just about physical activity with a willing partner. That’s the sum of it. When the time comes to marry Whit, he’ll put a stop to it and no one will be any the wiser.  
It doesn’t mean he’s not nervous though. He wishes Ben would throw him a reassuring look, but there’s been nothing from the younger man.  
Back in the hotel, as the lift arrives and they all pile in, Callum’s nerves are reaching fever-pitch. He tries to take a few deep breaths without anyone noticing, but for the first time that night Ben gives him an indication that they might be on the same page. He’s squashed in next to Callum, and he turns his head and throws a wink at him so subtle that Callum thinks he might have imagined it. A second later, though, Callum feels Ben’s little finger hook his, the action concealed by the proximity of everyone in the lift. He draws in a sharp breath, and then curses himself for acting like a schoolkid with a crush. From the corner of his eye, he can see Ben is smiling. Not for the first time, he questions if he can fully trust the younger man. What if this is all a huge game to him? How discreet is he going to be?  
When the lift reaches their floor, everyone spills out and Martin Fowler and Keanu head off to the left. Stuart and Tubbs lead the way in the opposite direction, Ben and Callum trailing after them.  
“Night all,” says Stuart as he opens the door to his room.  
“Night,” answers Tubbs, going into the room next door.  
Callum and Ben are in the room directly opposite. Callum thanks his lucky stars that, for once, they’re not right next door to Stuart. Ben lets them in and crosses to the window to draw the curtains. Then he picks up the remote and switches the TV on.  
“Oh,” says Callum. “We watching telly then?” He sits on the end of the bed feeling stupid for assuming something else was going to happen.  
Ben flips the telly to a music channel. “Yep, Callum, that’s exactly what we’re doin’,” he says, rolling his eyes. He throws the remote down on the dressing table. “Just settin’ the mood,” he explains. “Don’t want anyone hearin’ us.”  
He sits down on the fold-out bed across the room and toes off his boots, and then stares expectantly at Callum.  
Callum swallows thickly. “You’ve got this all worked out, ain’t ya?”  
“Bin thinkin’ about nothin’ else all through dinner,” says Ben. “Yer a long way away over there.”  
“So’re you,” answers Callum, trying to brazen it out.  
Ben smiles at his false bravado. “You should come over here,” he commands, tilting his chin at Callum.  
Callum blinks at him, trying to find something to do with his hands. He smooths them down his thighs in an effort to conceal his nerves. He’s not sure if he got up right now he’d be able to walk the few steps to Ben, he’s shaking so much. This feels ten times worse than his first time with Whit.  
Ben regards him through narrowed eyes. “Playin’ hard to get, huh?” His expression is severe, but then he flashes a smile and gets up, swaggering over to Callum and stopping in front of him. Callum stares up at him and tries to control his breathing.  
Ben nudges at Callum’s knees with his own until Callum lets his legs fall apart, and then steps in between them, standing in close and caressing Callum’s shoulders through his t-shirt. The height difference means that Callum has to look up to him, for a change. He slides his hands around Ben’s waist, noticing how muscular it is compared to what he’s been used to.  
“Alright?” asks Ben.  
Callum nods, not trusting himself to speak, and then Ben captures his mouth in a kiss. He seems content to go at Callum’s pace, not asking for more and not initiating anything further. He pulls back just the tiniest amount, his breath warm on Callum’s cheek, and says, “Relax, Cal. C’mon, relax these lips.”  
Callum is feeling overwhelmed at the way Ben’s waist muscles flex as he moves within the kiss. He’s already hard again, and he feels like a teenager making out with someone for the first time. He slides his hands lower over Ben’s body, feeling like he’s taking liberties; feeling like Ben will come to his senses any second and tell him to stop. As his hands graze Ben’s arse, the younger man lets out a slow, satisfied sigh, and then clambers onto the bed to straddle his lap. “You’d better hold me tight,” he says. “Don’t wanna fall off ya.” He kisses Callum again, a brief peck of a kiss. “That would NOT be cool when I’m tryin’ to impress ya.”  
Callum feels a little lighter at those words. He realises Ben is maybe just as nervous is him. “You’re tryin’ to impress me?” he asks, just to be sure.  
“Course,” says Ben. “Not every day I get a babe like you in me bed.”  
Callum reaches up a hand to cup his face and draws him down for another kiss. “Well technically,” he murmurs, “You’re in my bed, so…”  
“Ooh, funny,” says Ben. “Funny little baby gay, ain’t ya?”  
Callum pulls back with a frown on his face, and Ben instantly sees that he’s said the wrong thing. “Or whatever,” he adds quickly. “Ignore me. It don’t matter. Just don’t stop kissin’ me.”  
Callum takes a second, and then resumes his quest to lick into Bens mouth. They don’t have to define this. They’re just passing the time, that’s all. It doesn’t have to have any long-lasting, earth-shattering significance.  
The sensation of having a man on his lap is mind-blowing and sexy in equal measure, and Callum is as aroused as he’s ever been in his life. Ben’s an equal partner in this exchange, sometimes taking the lead, sometimes waiting for Callum to take the initiative, and it’s so totally different to how he experiences making out with Whitney. They’re not aiming for an end-point at this stage, just enjoying the taste and the sensation of each other. With Whit, Callum’s always so anxious, there’s times he just wants to get it over and done with, but he feels like he could spend all night kissing Ben and doing nothing else.  
He can feel that Ben’s as hard as he is. He brushes his hand over him as they kiss, and Ben groans quietly at his touch.  
Callum pulls back and glances quickly up at him. “Wanna…” He clears his throat. “Wanna see ya.” He indicates what he means with a quick, nervous dip of his head, and Ben gives him a careful look, as if he wants to make sure that Callum’s sure. Callum gathers all his courage and raises his head to look directly into his eyes, and whatever Ben sees there convinces him, because he stands up and away from Callum, and then begins pulling off his jeans and underwear. Callum’s mouth goes dry as he watches him.  
Divested of his underwear and wearing only his t-shirt, Ben turns round and stares almost defiantly at Callum. His cock is hard and proud, and suddenly Callum’s mouth is watering. He pulls Ben closer to him again, and as he closes his fingers around Ben’s length, he feels like he’s crossed a definitive line. Safety is a long, long way behind him right now. 

The covers are tickling his chin. He feels too-warm, and the duvet is weighted down behind him so that he can’t shift it. He hears the sound of a door closing along the corridor, and drifts a little closer to full consciousness. There’s a slight movement behind him in the bed. He reaches across to check the time on his phone, and then an arm slides around his waist and a kiss lands upon his shoulder.  
“Mornin’,” grunts Ben.  
“Mornin’,” says Callum. He twists round to face him.  
“How’s my quick little learner?” asks Ben, smiling sleepily at Callum.  
Callum scoffs, embarrassed. “Shut up.”  
Ben pulls him close and kisses him hard, then slides out of bed and heads, naked, to the bathroom. “Goin’ for a shower,” he says over his shoulder. At the bathroom door he pauses and turns back to Callum. “Don’t have a sexual identity crisis while I’m gone!” He gives Callum a cheeky grin before he disappears behind the door.  
Callum turns onto his back and puts his hands behind his head. Even the quick kiss they’d just shared was enough to have him ready for round two. Or three. Depending if they were counting last night as just the one round. He is not going to freak out about any of it. He’s not. He can have this, at least until things have to change in a few weeks’ time.  
He feels well-rested and relaxed, for the first time in ages, despite the fact that they didn’t settle down to sleep until getting on for half-one.

Ben has a head-start on getting ready for the day, so he heads off down the corridor to call the lift as Callum’s still gathering his belongings together. Callum saunters out of the room and down the corridor a couple of minutes later with a spring in his step.  
As he rounds the corner to the lift he can hear Ben on the phone. He steps back out of sight.  
“Yeah, I miss you too sweetheart. I love ya. See you in a few days.”  
Callum’s heart twists. “Who was that?” he asks, stepping into view.  
Ben is just pocketing his phone. He looks up with a start at Callum’s words. “Sorry, didn’t realise you was there.”  
“Evidently,” says Callum, unable to conceal the jealousy in his tone.  
Ben looks closely at him, and then understanding seems to dawn in his eyes. He looks disappointed.  
“That was Lex. It’s her birthday today.” He jabs at the button to call the lift, and shakes his head in disgust.  
Shames instantly washes over Callum. “Uh, sorry,” he says, knowing he’s been an idiot and feeling stupid. “I just… you never said. I thought - ”  
“I know what you thought, Callum.” Ben turns back to face him and pronounces his words slowly and clearly. “You. Do not. Get. To Be. Jealous.” He steps back. “I didn’t realise I had to tell you everythin. I thought we was just havin’ sex, not gettin’ joint gym membership and plannin’ our weddin.”  
It’s a deliberate jibe, and Callum nearly reacts, but he’s torn between anger at Ben’s sarcasm about the wedding, and terror that someone might just have overheard him talking about them having sex.  
As they step into the lift and the doors close behind them, Ben says, “Listen, Cal, maybe this isn’t such a good idea, what we’re doin’. I mean, someone’s gonna get hurt, aren’t they?” He avoids Callum’s gaze, tucking his chin into his collar and staring at the floor. “Let’s call it quits, yeah? Last night was…” he sucks in a breath. “…amazin’, but maybe it was enough.”  
“Oh, so you’ve got what ya wanted, yeah?” retorts Callum, suddenly seized with panic.  
Ben throws him an incredulous look. “You ain’t some vestal virgin, Callum! I ain’t just stolen yer virtue.” He steps closer. “I really like ya, Cal, but I ain’t in the business of splittin’ couples up. We shouldn’ta done this. We let ourselves get carried away, an- ”  
“Please, Ben,” says Callum. “Please don’t let’s stop.” He crowds Ben against the lift wall and kisses him. When he steps back, Ben takes in a shuddering breath but avoids his gaze.  
The lift door opens and Callum’s brought back to reality with a bump. Keanu and Tubbs are waiting outside, on the way back from breakfast.  
“You two better hurry up,” says Tubbs. “Yer runnin’ late, Stuart’ll be spittin’.”

The rest of the morning passes in an agony of turbulent emotions for Callum, along with a flurry of dropped screwdrivers, damaged fingers and cursing, as his concentration levels dwindle to nothing. Ben is avoiding him as much as he can. Callum throws glances at him every now and again, trying to gauge his mood, but the younger man is impassive. Callum can’t bear the thought that he’s come to terms with his decision to stop what they’d only just started doing, and is totally unaffected by it.  
He spends the morning trying to square a circle in his head. He loves Whitney; he’s marrying her in a few weeks’ time. He doesn’t love Ben, but he wants him more than he’s ever wanted anyone in his life. He’s torn. He can’t lose either of them, but it’s beginning to dawn on him that he’s going to have to. He just can’t bear the thought of a life without the amazing, exhilarating highs that Ben brought him last night.  
He’s tetchy all morning, and snaps several times at Stuart when he tries to ask if he’s OK, causing Stuart’s patience to wear thin as he steadily gets more and more pissed off. He wonders afterwards if that contributes to what happens at lunchtime. He wonders if it was all his fault.  
They’re all finishing up. Tubbs, Martin Fowler and Keanu are chucking their tools back in their van for safekeeping, and Callum’s just returned from doing the lunch run, when they hear shouting coming from one of the houses. They all pile back in, just in time to see Stuart land a punch on Ben. The younger man reels from the force and comes up with blood dripping from a cut on his cheekbone.  
“At least I’m not the one who ran me dad’s company into the ground!” Stuart is shouting at Ben, jabbing a finger in his face.  
Ben slaps his hand away, equally as angry. “Yeah? Well at least I ain’t oblivious to the fact that - ”  
Beside Callum, Martin Fowler says authoritatively, “Ben,” and shakes his head almost imperceptibly.  
Callum and Ben both look at him with wide eyes, his intervention instilling panic in Callum, but seeming to have a calming effect on Ben. As Callum turns back to him, he sees the anger drain out of him and his shoulders drop.  
“I wouldn’ta - ” he says to Martin Fowler. He gazes at Callum, looking stricken, and then rushes from the room.  
“What the hell was that all about?” asks Tubbs, heading over to Stuart.  
“He needs to keep his bleedin’ mouth shut!” spits Stuart. He’s pacing, still wound up, and his fists are clenched at his sides. “Fuckin’ wind-up merchant!”  
Keanu is hovering in the doorway, looking shocked. Martin Fowler gives Callum a sad smile, and jerks his head in the direction Ben had taken. “Go after him, yeah?” he says gently.  
Callum pushes past Keanu and starts his search, but he can’t find Ben anywhere. He searches all the places he thinks he might find him, and finally admits defeat, returning to the house Tubbs and his gang had been working in and sliding down the wall to sit on the floor in the kitchen. He feels like all the breath has been punched out of him. If Ben had finished that sentence…  
He hears footsteps, and looks up, expecting to see Ben, but it’s Martin Fowler.  
“You not found him?” he asks.  
Callum shakes his head, his face suddenly burning with shame. “You know, don’tcha?”  
Martin Fowler regards him gravely for a second or two, and then comes across to join him, sitting on the floor beside him. “He, uh, he mentioned it. When we was sharin’ a room.” He slides his feet down and stretches out his legs. “To be honest, he didn’t really need to though.”  
Callum, already beside himself at the thought that Ben had been gossiping about this, now feels utter dread.  
“What d’ya mean?”  
“You look at each other,” says Martin Fowler, shrugging. “When you think the other one won’t notice.” He huffs out a laugh. “You ain’t exactly subtle, the pair of ya.”  
He looks round at Callum and, seeing the terror on his face, relents a little. “Don’t worry, nobody else has noticed, but you wanna be careful if you don’t want it getting’ out.” He pauses. “I thought you was getting’ married, anyway.”  
Callum rubs his face tiredly. “It’s all such a mess.”  
“You love him?”  
Callum huffs a humourless laugh. “No, course not.”  
“Why ‘course not’? Stranger things have happened.”  
“I, uh. I dunno,” says Callum, shaking his head slowly. It hadn’t even occurred to him that that might be an option. “I just know it’s different with him. Different to when I’m with Whit.”  
“Good different or bad different?”  
Callum shrugs. “Just different. I mean, with Whit, I feel what I’m supposed to feel.”  
“Whatever that is,” says Martin Fowler. “And with Ben?”  
“I just feel weird. Overwhelmed.” Callum tips his head back against the wall, feeling shame. “I can’t talk about this. It ain’t right. Please don’t tell anyone.”  
Martin Fowler holds his hands up. “None of my business, mate.”  
They hear the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and then Ben appears in the doorway.  
“Right, that’s my cue to make meself scarce,” says Martin Fowler. He crosses to the door and gives Ben a light squeeze of the shoulder as he passes him.  
Ben’s right cheek is covered with blood; he’s made no attempt to clean it up; and his eyes are still defiant. He crosses the room and takes the place Martin Fowler had been sitting in before, only slightly closer so that his shoulder brushes Callum’s. They sit in silence for a few seconds, before Callum says, “You OK?”  
“I wouldn’ta said it, ya know,” says Ben in answer. “I wouldn’ta outed ya.”  
“Sounded like you mighta done,” says Callum, “if we hadn’ta got there in time.”  
“Nah, I’da stopped meself.” Ben raises a hand and picks at the fraying threads on the knee of Callum’s jeans. “I’m sorry.”  
“You told Martin Fowler,” Callum points out.  
Ben sighs heavily. “That were different. It was drivin’ me crazy, I had to talk to someone.”  
Callum rubs a hand over his face wearily. He’s beginning to see what a monumental mess he’s made of everything. In truth, he’d known it couldn’t end well, but he’s been so taken up with what he thought he could have, even if only for a short time, that he’s lost sight of the fact that other people’s feelings are involved, too. Whitney, Stuart. Ben. He doesn’t want to hurt any of them, but it seems like it’s going to be inevitable. He’s appalled at how selfish he’s been.  
“Yer brother’s a twat,” offers Ben after they’ve sat in silence for ages.  
Callum huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. He certainly has his moments. What started it all off?”  
“No idea,” says Ben. “He’s bin gunnin’ for me ever since I joined. I s’pose I mighta given him a bit of cheek. Mighta given him an excuse.”  
Callum throws him a look of mock-surprise. “No! Really?”  
They share a grin, and then Callum digs a tissue out of his pocket. “C’mere,” he says.  
Ben twists round to face him, and he spits on the tissue and then scrubs at Ben’s cheek, managing to remove most of the dried blood to reveal a livid cut the length of his cheekbone. “You might need stitches in that,” he says.  
“Nah.” Ben pulls his hand away. “Just adds to me masculine allure, don’t it?”  
He grins cheekily at Callum, but then the humour fades slowly from his face. He sees something in Callum’s eyes that causes him to say, in the quietest of voices, “We need to stop, don’t we?”  
His words hit Callum in the gut. He scrutinises Ben’s face, as if this is the last time he’ll ever see it, and then nods sadly.  
Ben takes a breath, before leaning forward to capture Callum’s lips in one last, soft kiss. Then he stands up and walks out of the kitchen without another word.  
Callum feels like he’s just ripped his heart out and taken it with him.

TEN  
After sorting out the tools in the back of the van, Callum follows Stuart up to his room, resolutely NOT looking over at his own room, where Ben had headed as soon as the van drew up in the car park and is probably now getting ready to go for dinner. Possibly wondering where Callum is.  
Or maybe not.  
The three of them had barely spoken a word since Stuart’s outburst at lunchtime, and the afternoon’s work had taken place to the sound of Radio One turned up loud, every single song seeming to be about lost love and heartache. Not that Callum’s lost a love. Of course not.  
He’s not had a chance to talk to Stuart about what happened, but he’s determined to now it’s just the two of them.  
“So?” he demands, hands on his hips, as Stuart kicks off his boots and flops down on his bed.  
“So what?” says Stuart in a flat voice, shifting onto his back and laying his arm across his eyes.  
“What’s got into ya, Stu? You coulda bin sacked if anyone’d got wind of what you did today.”  
Stuart snorts. “They mighta give me a medal when they realised what I’ve been forced to contend with these last few weeks.”  
“What you’ve been forced to -?” Callum begins pacing, getting worked up at Stuart’s attitude. “I ain’t noticed life’s bin particularly hard for ya, Stu. What exactly is it you’ve been ‘contendin’ ’ with, huh?”  
Stuart sits up abruptly and swings his feet over the side of the bed. “He don’t show me any respect,” he complains.  
“He wha- ?”  
“Always tryin’ ta be the funny man, with his wise-cracks and his smutty comments. He needed takin’ down a peg or two, and I done it. It ain’t no more than he deserved.”  
Callum pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “You can’t just go round beating up the people you don’t get on with, Stu. Workin’ with the pair of ya’s gonna be bleedin’ awkward, now, ain’t it?”  
“Well, with a bit of luck he’ll walk,” says Stuart, nodding his head as if he’s decided that’s exactly what’s going to happen.  
“He ain’t gonna walk. He needs this job just as much as we do.”  
“Yeah, since daddy - ”  
“I know, Stu. I know! You’ve told me a hundred times!”  
Stuart peers up at him closely. “Why you defendin’ ‘im, anyway? He pisses you off as much as he does me.”  
“He don’t.”  
“He do! You’ve bin bleedin’ miserable since he joined us. If you ain’t walkin’ around spaced out, yer bitin’ me head off. Admit it, Cal, you don’t like workin’ with ‘im any more than I do.”  
Callum sighs. “Ben workin’ with us ain’t nothin’ to do with how I’m feelin’. There’s a lot goin’ on for me at the moment, what with the weddin’ and - . Other stuff.”  
“What other stuff?”  
“Just…stuff. I’ve gotta lot on me mind, Stu, and you ain’t helpin’ matters.”  
Stuart looks at him through narrowed eyes, as if he might be able to determine what’s wrong just by sight alone. Eventually, he says, “OK, listen. I’m sorry I hit Ben Mitchell, though only cos it’s pissed you off. Why don’t me and you go out tonight, find a nice old-fashioned pub and sink a coupla pints, get a bit of pub grub and I’ll thrash ya at darts. How does that sound? Then you can tell yer old brother exactly what’s botherin’ ya.”  
“I ain’t havin’ a heart to heart with ya, Stu,” says Callum, his stomach turning over at the thought of confiding his very particular problems to Stuart. He sees the disappointment on his brother’s face, and relents a little. “But food and darts sound good. Why dontcha text Tubbs and let him know we won’t be there for dinner tonight?”  
Stuart’s face lights up at his words, and he scrabbles for his phone.

It’s actually quite nice to have a normal evening, like the ones Callum used to have back in Walford. Good, too, to bond with Stuart again. Stuart ends up having a heart to heart with him about Rainie, and Callum realises for the first time just how close they are to breaking up. He feels guilty for not having been there for Stuart, and resolves to do better.  
“Why dontcha ask her to marry ya?” he suggests as they’re on their third game of darts.  
“Look at ya!” beams Stuart, “Think marriage is the solution to everythin’, dontcha?” He pinches Callum’s cheek affectionately. “Such a little romantic, ain’t ya?”  
Callum grimaces, and lines up his next throw. “Not exactly.” He curses as his dart misses the triple twenty by a wide margin. “You should think about it, though. I ain’t never seen you this settled with someone. She’s good for ya.”  
“Yeah,” says Stuart, in a thoughtful voice. “Yeah, I might.”  
Callum throws his final dart carelessly. He’s way behind in this game and one more triple twenty isn’t going to make any difference. It lands on double two and he shakes his head in disgust. “Why’ve you got such a downer on Ben, anyway?” he asks, turning his attention back to Stuart.  
“He’s trouble,” says Stuart, gathering up his darts. “He’s bin in prison. More than once. He’s got a nasty temper on him, and he’d hit ya as soon as look at ya if he took a dislike to ya.”  
Callum frowns at him. “You coulda just described yerself, there, Stu.” Realisation dawns. “That’s the trouble though, ain’t it? He’s too much like you!”  
“Don’t be daft,” says Stuart, throwing his second dart with far too much force. “Anyway, since when did you become Sigfried Freud?”  
“Mund.”  
“What?”  
“Sig-MUND Freud,” says Callum, trying to conceal his smile.  
“Yeah, whatever.” Stuart throws his final dart without even looking at the board. He’s glaring at Callum. “Clever clogs.”

In the van on the way back, Callum fires off a quick text to Whitney. He can’t really deny it to himself any more, his communication with her seems to be feeling more and more like a chore. It’s a good twenty minutes before she replies.  
He’s been ignoring it all afternoon, but there’s an ache in his heart, and it’s not because he’s so far away from Whitney. They’d only had the one proper night together, but his body misses Ben’s with an intensity so great it’s physical. He sighs heavily, and throws his head back on the headrest as Stuart manoeuvres the van into the hotel car park.  
“You sure you don’t wanna talk about it?” asks Stuart.  
Callum didn’t realise he’d been so vocal. “About what?”  
“I dunno. Whatever’s botherin’ you.”  
“Nah,” says Callum, shaking his head slowly. “I’ve just gotta…deal with it.”  
“It ain’t about marrying Whit, is it?” asks Stuart, swinging the van round into the last available parking space and switching off the ignition. “Cos yer doin’ the right thing, bruv. She’s a lovely girl. Yer lucky she’d look twice at ya.”  
“I know, I know,” says Callum.

He does know.  
Intellectually, he knows. It’s hard, though, when his intuition’s beginning to tell him something different.  
He’d half hoped Ben would still be awake when he got back to their room, but all the lights are off and the lump underneath the bedclothes on the fold-out bed doesn’t stir as he closes the door quietly behind himself and sets about getting ready for bed. He sits up in the darkness for a few minutes once he’s changed and brushed his teeth, fighting with the temptation to cross the room and slide in beside Ben, but then scolds himself for being an idiot, and settles down ready to sleep.  
They’ve called a halt to everything before anyone got hurt, and that’s a good thing. It’s just like Rainie had described to him once. The more you resist the temptation, the easier it gets to free yourself of the craving. He’s just got to be strong.

It’s one thing to tell yourself those things when the object of those cravings is safely asleep, quite another when he’s awake and half-dressed and… there. Right in front of you, in living, breathing, half-naked technicolour.  
“You have a good night, last night?” asks Ben as they’re getting ready to go down to breakfast the next morning.  
“Uh, yeah, it was alright,” says Callum, staring absent-mindedly at Ben’s pecs before the younger man puts his t-shirt on. He realises what he’s doing and snaps himself out of it with an effort. “Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya I weren’t gonna be around for dinner last night.”  
Ben throws him a bemused look. “We ain’t joined at the hip, Cal. You don’t havta tell me nothin’.”  
“Yeah, but” -  
“It’s fine.” Ben shrugs into his t-shirt. “You needed some time with Stuart. Makes sense, he’s family, ain’t he?”  
Callum feels despair. Ben is being so matter of fact about the situation, like he doesn’t expect anything of Callum now they’re not doing…that anymore. “That don’t mean I approved of what he did to ya,” he blurts out. “I told him he was out of order.”  
“It’s fine,” repeats Ben, in a soothing voice. “Just one o’ them things, ain’t it?” He heads for the door. “See ya down there, yeah?”

Ben’s t-shirt rides up his back when he bends to lift things, and it’s driving Callum to distraction. He’s kissed that particular spot that’s exposed right now, on more than one occasion. He can still remember how Ben tastes. His mind takes him back to that night, to whispered words and muffled groans, and a sensation unlike any he’d ever felt before.  
“Oi, soft lad, get outta the way,” says Stuart, bringing him back to earth with a bump. He hefts the piece of worktop he’d been carrying onto a run of kitchen units, and fixes Callum with a quizzical stare. “You gonna do any work today, or you expectin’ the kitchen fairies to do it for ya?”  
Ben looks round at that, and throws Callum a gentle smile meant only for the two of them. Callum’s stomach does not turn over three times at the sight, but an hour later he realises his brain’s been singing ‘Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered’ on repeat.

At dinner that night he’s mindful of Martin Fowler’s observation that the two of them had been stealing glances at each other when they thought they wouldn’t be noticed. He thinks sadly that Ben’s probably not doing it anymore, but that doesn’t stop him. He watches Ben’s mouth when he’s telling jokes and remembers what it felt like to kiss it; to have it close around his length, wet and warm.  
He shifts position in his seat so no one will notice how aroused he’s making himself, and follows the flexing of the muscles in Ben’s hands when they’re cutting his food on his plate.  
His heart does a quick somersault when, unusually, Ben announces that he’s having an early night and heads off by about half-nine, but there’s no glance over at Callum in a secret invitation to follow him, so as Ben weaves his way through the tables towards the exit, Callum takes a long swig of his pint, feeling bereft.  
He lingers in the restaurant for another hour, only half-listening to the banter going on around him; smiling in all the right places and grunting appropriately (he hopes) when he’s spoken to, but by half-ten he can’t bear it any longer.  
He’d slept badly the night before, tossing and turning and waking up in a tangle of bedclothes with burning eyes, like he’d only managed to get a couple of hours’ rest at most. He’s dreading going to bed, because he thinks the same thing is going to happen again tonight, so he dawdles in the car park, staring up at the stars and taking deep breaths, wishing he could just be on his own until his head’s sorted itself out. Maybe he needs a holiday, away from everything. Away from the twisted, torturous tangles of the mess he’s got himself into.  
By the time he gets to his room, he’s worked himself up into a state. He gets ready for bed feeling nothing but contempt for the weak, screwed-up person he sees reflected back at him in the bathroom mirror.  
He gets into bed and once again begins tossing and turning, unable to still his racing mind. Over on the fold-out, Ben is breathing deeply, fast asleep and probably blissfully untroubled by their decision to stop whatever it was they’d had together. Callum raises himself up on his elbow and peers across at him, trying to make out in the dark if he’s really asleep.  
Finally, he can’t help himself. The bed’s far too big and cold. He’s not going to get any rest if he’s on his own, so this calls for bold measures. He slides out of bed and pads across to Ben, lifting the cover and slipping in beside him.  
Ben stirs. “Wha’-?”  
“Please Ben,” Callum implores. “I don’t wanna do anythin’. Just wanna hold ya. Is that OK? I can’t sleep on me own.”  
Ben grunts, still mostly asleep, and shifts around so that Callum can tuck his face into his neck and slide an arm around his waist. Callum finally falls asleep listening to his breathing and surrounded by his scent.

The next morning, Callum is pulled back to consciousness by a dawning realisation that the right side of the bed is colder than the left. He opens his eyes and sees that Ben is sitting up beside him, the duvet pulled down to cover his lap.  
“Mornin’” he murmurs.  
Ben darts a glance round at him, and then ignores him. He looks tired.  
“You OK?” asks Callum, reaching out an arm to run his fingers down Ben’s torso. Ben twitches away from him, and then twists back round, his expression grim.  
“What was that all about Callum? Last night?”  
Callum frowns. “What?”  
“You. Climbin’ in me bed.”  
“I, uh. I didn’t think you’d mind. I weren’t askin’ for anythin’.”  
Ben scoffs loudly. “So let me just get this straight, Cal, cos this is what I think’s going on in your head, right? Monday it didn’t count if it was just sex, cos no emotions were involved. But now, it don’t count cos there’s NO sex involved.” He puts his hands to his temples in an exaggerated display of confusion. “Call me an idiot, Cal, but that don’t make sense to me.”  
“You don’t have to be such a twat about it,” snaps Callum, feeling hurt and rejected.  
Ben laughs obnoxiously. “I’M the twat?” He shakes his head. “You really take the biscuit, dontcha Callum? I GET that you’re confused, but you don’t get to mess people around. There’s still such a thing as common decency.”  
He gets out of bed and starts pulling clean underwear out of his bag. “When I get back from me shower, I want you out of this bed. You ain’t bein’ fair on me.”

The previous day, the three of them had reached a grudging, if unspoken, understanding. Stuart and Ben would stop winding each other up. Ben and Callum would be civil. They’d all get along as much as they needed to get the job done. Today, though, Ben’s ignoring Callum completely, and Stuart is looking from one to the other with a perplexed look on his face. Callum fears he’s winding himself up to defend Callum’s honour against what he no doubt interprets as Ben being a pain in the arse again.  
In truth, Callum knows he hasn’t been fair on Ben. He wants to apologise, but Ben is making sure not to be left alone with him long enough for a conversation to take place. Callum’s head is a mess, and as the day, and then the rest of the week, wears on, he makes a decision.  
He talks about it to Whit on the Thursday night, and to say she isn’t happy would be an understatement.  
“I barely see ya these days as it is, Callum. What you gonna be doin’ up there all on yer own all weekend?”  
“I dunno,” says Callum. “I just need some time on me own.”  
“You ain’t getting’ depressed, are ya?” asks Whitney, a note of concern appearing in her voice. “You ain’t gonna do somethin’ stupid?”  
“No, course not!” Callum heaves a sigh, and picks at the fraying threads on the knee of his jeans. “I just need a bit of headspace. Stuart’s doin’ me head in, and so’s Ben. I want a rest.”  
“You could come home. I could look after ya,” says Whitney, her tone indicating just what form her ‘looking after’ would take.  
Callum keeps his voice steady, so as not to betray his panic at the thought. “Whit, yer really sweet, but I just need this weekend on me own. It ain’t about you, it’s just about how I’m feelin’.” He ignores that voice in his head that tells him he’s just used the classic line: It’s not you, it’s me.  
He doesn’t announce his decision to Stuart and Ben until breakfast-time the next morning.  
“You ain’t comin’ home?” repeats Stuart, as if Callum’s just made the most outlandish statement he’s ever heard.  
“Well I’m not driving all the way back to London with ‘im,” says Ben, tilting his chin at Stuart, “If you ain’t there, he’ll throw me out on the motorway as soon as look at me.”  
“Oh what, you scared, Mitchell?”  
“Oh for god’s sake!” Callum bangs his hand down on the breakfast table, and then glances around, embarrassed, as the other diners look in his direction. He dips his head and lowers his voice. “This! This is why I don’t wanna be around people at the moment. Yer both doin’ me head in!”  
“Right, well, I’m getting’ the train,” says Ben. “You can drop me off at the train station before you drop Cal off in Manchester.”

“Oh, I can, can I?” asks Stuart.  
“Stu,” says Callum, in a warning voice. “Just do as he says. I’ve got a hotel booked in the centre, so it won’t be any skin off your nose to drop him.”  
“Whatever,” says Stuart, folding his arms and glaring at Ben.

The drive to the railway station that Friday evening is silent. Callum sits worrying the piece of paper in his hand that shows the address of the hotel he’s booked, turning it over and over in his fingers.  
When they reach the station, Ben gets out of the van with his bag and stalks off without a single word. Callum shakes his head softly, watching him through the windscreen as he joins with the crowds entering the station until he disappears out of sight.  
Everything’s such a mess.  
“What you gonna do all weekend?” asks Stuart as they set off for Callum’s hotel.  
“Dunno, see where me feet take me,” suggests Callum. “Might do the cinema, an art gallery - ”  
Stuart scoffs. “An ‘art gallery’? You had a bump on the ‘ead, bruv?”  
“I dunno, alright?” says Callum, frustrated at the way Stuart ridicules him. It’s as if he can never change or grow. He’s always being pulled back, hemmed in, by Stuart’s expectations of who he is. Stuart’s tiny little world is beginning to feel too claustrophobic for Callum, and he wants to spread his wings, reinvent himself. Grow as a person.  
He takes his leave of Stuart still in the same mood, determined to explore new experiences that weekend. Determined to be the man he wants to be. Determined to forget all about sex and weddings and short, sarcastic men that drive him crazy, but by the time he’s sitting in the hotel restaurant, feeling awkward because he’s all alone and every other person in the world seems to be in couples or friendship groups, the feeling fades. Maybe he’s an idiot for wanting to branch out a bit. Maybe he should just have gone home with Stuart, back to what’s familiar and safe.  
He sighs, and takes a long sip of his sparkling water, perusing the guide to Manchester he’d found in his room while he waits for his meal to be served. He becomes conscious that someone has stopped in front of his table. He looks up, and opens his mouth to speak, but then realises that he can’t think of a thing to say.  
He’s looking determined, and a little nervous.  
Callum takes a second. “What you doin’ here?” he exclaims. “I thought you was on the train back to London?”  
Ben clears his throat awkwardly, and pulls out the chair to sit down opposite him. “So, here’s the thing,” he begins. “It seems I can’t stay away from ya.”  
Callum’s heart leaps, but then his brain kicks in, telling him that this is a bad idea. “Ben- ”  
“No! Hear me out, Cal.” Ben sits forward, an earnest expression on his face. “I bin thinkin’ about it, and I know yer getting’ married. I know this can’t last forever.” He shuffles in his seat and fixes Callum with an intense gaze. “But I dunno, maybe if we both accept that fact, we can have some fun along the way. Just go with the flow for a few weeks.” His gaze falters and he fidgets nervously with the place setting in front of him. “Well... what d’ya reckon?”  
Callum is feeling lonely and lost. And Ben’s right there in front of him, in living, breathing technicolour.  
He’s too tired to fight it anymore. 

ELEVEN  
“Well, this is a step up from the Premier Inn,” says Ben as he follows Callum through the door of his hotel room. He stops to hang the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the outer handle, and then closes the door and crosses the plush plaid carpet to look out of the window onto Deansgate, three stories below. “Very nice.” He rubs his hands together in glee and then checks out the bed, bouncing up and down on it. “Very nice indeed.”  
Callum shrugs from where he’s still standing just inside the door. “Just thought I’d treat meself.”  
“Quite right too, princess,” says Ben, with a wink. Callum gives him a warning look.  
“You gonna stand over there all night?” asks Ben. “Cos this bed is VERY comfy.”  
Callum swallows hard, and throws his wallet and key card on the dressing table before approaching the bed. Now that Ben’s here again, and there’s absolutely nothing stopping them from doing anything they want, he feels nervous. Ben must pick up on it, because his demeanour changes. He stops the teasing grin and smiles sweetly at him instead, then pats the bed beside him.  
“Just sit with me, Cal.”  
Callum does as he’s told, and Ben runs his hand down his thigh. “You OK?”  
“Yeah. Just a bit overwhelmed.”  
Ben smiles wider and puts an arm around him, squeezing his shoulders. “Well, I am overwhelming. I have been told. Awesome, was the other word I think they used.”  
Callum blinks at him. “You are pretty awesome, actually.”  
He never thought it would be possible to stop Ben in his tracks, but the younger man seems taken aback at his words. An uncertain look passes over his face, and it rids Callum’s brain of the embarrassment he was starting to feel at his first ever ham-fisted attempt to flirt with another man.  
“Did…did you just give me a compliment?” asks Ben.  
He seems genuinely surprised. Callum figures he maybe didn’t get many compliments in the course of all those one-night stands he’s had, and his heart goes out to him. “I did,” he says. “You ARE awesome, Ben Mitchell.”  
Ben looks like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He avoids the need for either by burying his face in Callum’s neck. A few seconds later, Callum feels him planting tiny kisses on his neck and jaw. He lies back on the bed and pulls Ben down on top of him.

The next morning when Callum wakes up Ben is standing at the window in his birthday suit, looking out at the street down below. He turns his head as he hears Callum stirring. “Hey, Cal, c’mere.”  
Callum rubs the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hand. “What?”  
“C’mere. Come and look.”  
Callum eases himself out of bed, his entire body aching from their exertions of the night before. He stretches luxuriantly, noting that Ben drinks in the sight of him with wide, hungry eyes, before joining him at the window.  
Ben grabs his arm. “Look down there. Them two blokes. One in the leather jacket and the other one with a red scarf. See ‘em?”  
“Yeah.”  
The blokes are maybe mid-twenties. Both tall and good-looking, from what Callum can see from this distance. They’re holding hands.  
“See ‘em?” repeats Ben.  
“Yeah. I see ‘em,” says Callum, still half-asleep.  
“Right, now look at everyone around ‘em.”  
Callum looks for a few seconds but can’t see anything out of the ordinary. “What am I lookin’ at?”  
“Nothin’!” says Ben triumphantly.  
Callum gets the feeling he’s started trying to converse with the human race far too soon after leaving his bed. Ben is making no sense whatsoever. “What?”  
“Nobody around those two blokes is battin’ an eyelid.”  
“So?”  
“So, I’m tellin’ ya. People don’t give a stuff whether you like blokes or birds or, or…horses.”  
Callum throws him a look. “You sure about that last one?”  
“OK, but you get what I’m sayin’?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I get what yer sayin,” says Callum. “Now can we please move away from this window? We’ll be scaring Santander’s customers opposite.”  
Ben snorts. “Well, you might be. I tell ya, sometimes I have no idea how I even take that monster.”  
“OK, stop talkin’ now!” says Callum, cringing.  
“Talk about horses, yer hung like - ”  
“Would ya please shut up!” The only way Callum can think of to stop Ben talking is to kiss him. Which he does. Comprehensively. So that by the time he stops Ben is totally speechless, just the way Callum likes it. He drags him back into bed for round four of the weekend.  
After, they lie quietly, murmuring confidences and trading lazy kisses.  
Callum runs a finger over the scar on Ben’s face from his fight with Stuart. “Why d’ya leave the car lot?” he asks, half asleep. “I mean, fittin’ kitchens for a livin’ is hardly a step up, is it?”  
Ben trails a finger over his chest, tracing soft patterns and avoiding his gaze. “Fancied a change.”  
“Why d’ya really leave?”  
“Me dad,” says Ben after a few seconds. He smiles wryly to himself. “He gives and he takes away.” He shifts around so that he can rest his head on Callum’s chest. “If you must know, he wanted me to do a job, and when I refused he told me to get lost. Told me I could piss off and earn me own livin’.”  
Callum rolls over so that he can see Ben properly, earning a whine from the younger man as he has to shift position to find a new part of Callum to rest on.  
“A job?” asks Callum. “What sort of a job?”  
“A dodgy one,” says Ben. “None o’ yer business.”  
“What sort of job?” repeats Callum.  
Ben positions Callum’s arm just so, and then rests his head on it. “You ever thought of joinin’ the police, Cal?”  
“No,” says Callum. “What sort of a job? Tell me.”  
They stare at each other, Callum challenging, Ben defiant. Eventually, Ben gives in, rolling his eyes. “Alright, ringers, OK?”  
“Ringers?”  
“Me dad owns the garage round at the arches, too. He takes in stolen cars, gives ‘em a make-over, and then he expected me to sell ‘em on the car lot.” Ben buries his face in Callum’s forearm, planting tiny kisses that make Callum’s skin tingle. “I mean, I done it before, plenty of times, but he’d laid off the ringers for a coupla years and I was makin’ a really good go of the car lot. Legit, you know? I didn’t wanna get back into it. Wanted to see how far I could take the business. But…” he sighs. “Daddy needed a bit of quick cash, so Benjamin was s’posed to jump.” He rolls over onto his back and puts his arm over his eyes. “That was the first time I ever stood up to him. And look where it got me.” He smiles to himself after a moment’s reflection. “In bed with a gorgeous bloke, so maybe it weren’t such a bad thing after all.”  
Callum watches him carefully for a few seconds. “You do that a lot, don’t ya?” he asks softly.  
Ben lowers his arm and frowns at him.  
“Joke about stuff that hurts ya,” adds Callum.  
“Well at least I don’t try an’ ignore it,” retorts Ben.  
Callum runs a hand through Ben’s hair, his action softening his words. “We ain’t talkin’ about me. Would ya go back? If yer dad asked ya to?”  
“Course I would,” says Ben with a faraway look in his eyes. “I s’pose I just want him to be proud of me.”  
“But proud of ya for breakin’ the law?”  
Ben shrugs. “It don’t matter, do it? You always want yer dad to be proud of ya. It don’t matter what kind of a bloke yer dad is.”  
Callum guesses he’s right. If he’s honest with himself, he’d still give anything to hear that Jonno thought he’d made something of his life; done him proud. It feels like Callum’s drifting further and further away from that possibility with every day that passes though. He hates to think what Jonno would say if he could see him now. “I just want me dad to love me,” he says, the truth of that statement hitting him like a cannonball. He wants his dad to truly love him for who he is.  
Ben huffs a quiet, sad laugh. “That seems to be all I do. Hang around waiting for men to love me…”  
He frowns, and avoids Callum’s gaze. It hits them both at the same time that the mood’s suddenly turned sombre and the moment heavy. Ben reaches up to throw an arm around Callum’s neck and kisses him hard, before turning away to pick up the meal guide from the bedside cabinet.  
“Damn!” he says, “We’ve missed breakfast. We’ll have to go out.”  
“Don’t wanna,” says Callum idly. “Wanna stay in bed with you.”  
“We should go out, see a bit of Manchester. Get somethin’ to eat,” coaxes Ben.  
“Or we could just stay in bed.”  
“Lazybones!” Ben prods at Callum, trying to get him to move. “C’mon Cal, wanna show you off to the outside world. Wanna walk down the road holdin’ yer hand.”  
Callum snorts. “Well that ain’t gonna happen.”  
Ben gives him a hard stare, then his gaze softens once he thinks he’s made his point. “What was you plannin’ to do this weekend? Before you knew I was gonna be here?”  
“Before you gate-crashed my luxury pad, you mean?” says Callum. He feels embarrassed, telling Ben his plans, certain he’ll laugh at him like Stuart had. “I was gonna go to an art gallery. You ever bin?”  
“I think I was supposed to once,” says Ben. “When I was at school.”  
“What happened?”  
“I bunked off.” Ben slides out of bed and holds out a hand for Callum. “C’mon then, if that’s what you wanna do. Come shower with me, Callum Highway, and then we’ll hit up an art gallery.”  
“Seriously?” asks Callum. “You sure? I mean. We don’t have to - ”  
“You wanna see art, so you’re gonna see art. And I’m gonna buy you brekkie first. C’mon, I don’t make that offer to every man I sleep with.”  
They take a long leisurely shower, longer than it needs to be because they can’t seem to keep their hands off each other. Callum has always been a quick dresser. He guesses it’s something to do with his army discipline, so he’s ready a fair few minutes before Ben, and sits in the armchair watching the younger man move around the room as he dresses and messes with his hair, getting it just so.  
“I coulda stayed in bed another hour,” he teases, urging Ben to hurry up. Instead, Ben comes across and sits on his lap, and they waste another quarter of an hour kissing slowly, until one or other’s stomach rumbles and they part, giggling like little schoolkids.  
Callum’s never had this before. He thinks he could get used to it, but then he reminds himself. This is just a bit of fun; going with the flow before they have to go their separate ways, as Ben had said the night before. He needs to guard against getting too carried away.  
Ben remains where he is, looking intently at Callum with a soft look in his eyes.  
“What?” says Callum.  
At that, Ben shifts his gaze, looking guilty, like Callum’s caught him out in some misdemeanour. “Nothin’. I was gonna say somethin’ that woulda freaked you out.” He slides off Callum’s lap. “C’mon, me stomach thinks me throat’s bin cut. Let’s go and get food.”

“I dunno what I’m lookin’ at,” says Callum, feeling vaguely panicky. Ben comes across to join him, standing close, and together they try to make head or tail of the painting in front of them.  
“They do say all artists are bonkers,” says Ben.  
“They do, do they?” asks Callum, grinning at Ben’s authoritative tone. “You learn that in yer art degree, did ya?”  
The grin fades from his face as Ben slips his hand into Callum’s. He looks around quickly to make sure no one’s noticed. An old bloke sitting on a bench in the corner glances up at his sudden movement, but then his gaze slides past Callum without noticeable interest.  
“If I held a gun to yer head and said you had to choose one of these to hang in yer khasi, which one would ya pick?” asks Ben.  
Callum tries to still the frantic beating of his heart, and fights an internal battle not to push Ben away from him. Ben’s hand tightens around his, and he breathes deeply a couple of times. He focuses on the question. “Umm… that one,” he says, pointing randomly at an abstract in blue.  
Ben looks. “Why that one?”  
“Cos it goes with the colour scheme,” says Callum.  
Ben snorts loudly, causing the old man to look up again. “Are you still puttin’ it about that yer not gay, Cal?” He shakes his head in amusement. “Goes with the colour scheme, indeed.”  
“Which one would you choose then?” asks Callum, amused in spite of feeling that he should be offended by Ben’s sarcasm.  
“That one,” says Ben, resting his head on Callum’s shoulder. “Obviously.” He points in the direction of a large canvas depicting a male nude.  
Callum shakes his head in despair. “Yer a lost cause, Ben Mitchell.” He removes his hand from Ben’s as subtly as he can and steps away from him.

Late that night, Callum lies awake with his head propped on his hand, watching Ben sleep. He tries to imagine what life will be like after the wedding. No more of this. No more marathon sex sessions. No more holding hands in public places. No more paying him compliments that make his face crumple like no one’s ever been kind to him before.  
Never hearing those three little words that Callum knows Ben was about to say earlier that day.  
Maybe one day Ben will find someone who loves him the way he deserves. Someone who can give him everything.  
Callum sighs and settles down to sleep, snaking an arm around Ben’s waist, and at his touch Ben turns in his embrace and cuddles closer. Callum’s mind plays a loop of moments from the last few weeks. Ben arriving at the van on that first morning and looking like he’d put a horse’s head in your bed as soon as look at you. The beseeching look in his eyes as he’d reached across and kissed Callum in the van. The fading of the laughter from his face with the dawning realisation that they needed to stop this. The way Ben’s love for Callum softens his features every time he looks at him. That look. That soft look will stay with Callum for as long as he lives.  
Just as he’s falling asleep, Callum remembers that he hasn’t texted Whitney once since he’s been here.

TWELVE  
“Can you stop here please mate?”  
The taxi pulls over half a mile from the building site, and Ben and Callum stare helplessly at each other in the back seat. They’ve hardly said a word to each other since they left the hotel.  
“So…” says Ben softly. “I’ll see ya there.”  
“Yeah,” says Callum. He wrings his hands in his lap. “Um, this weekend… you know.”  
“Yeah, I do.” Ben leans forward as if he’s about to kiss Callum, but Callum recoils and glances quickly at the eyes of the taxi driver reflected in the rear-view mirror, his actions causing a look of resignation to come over Ben’s features. The younger man picks up his bag from the footwell and twists to open the door. For a mad moment Callum almost tells him to stay, tells the taxi driver to keep on driving to anywhere away from here. Anywhere Callum and Ben can be alone together. But the moment passes and the car door slams shut behind Ben. As the taxi pulls away and passes him making his way along the road, head bowed, he doesn’t look up.

Stuart’s already on-site when Callum gets there, arms folded, shooting the breeze with a couple of the builders who are working there for the duration. He heads over to Callum when he sees the taxi pull up.  
“Alright bruv? You have a good weekend?”  
“Amazin’,” says Callum. Even to his own ears he sounds a bit dreamy. He qualifies his statement. “I mean, you know, great.”  
“Yeah, what d’ya get up to?”  
“Spent a lot of time in bed,” says Callum, avoiding Stuart’s gaze. “Mooched around doin’ what I pleased.”  
“Good, good. Glad to hear it,” says Stuart, as they walk over to the van for Callum to throw his bag in the back. “I tell ya what, it was bliss drivin’ up this mornin’. No Ben bleedin’ Mitchell chewin’ me ear off. And no grumpy younger brother, neither. I could get used to it.”  
“I’ll have to do it more often then,” says Callum.  
Stuart gives him a warning look. “You better not. I ran into Whitney yesterday. She was not best pleased with you. She said you never called her once all weekend.”  
Callum sighs, but the need for an answer is avoided by the arrival of Tubbs and the gang, beeping the horn as they pull up beside Stuart’s van.  
“Right,” says Stuart. “Now we just need Pain in the Arse Mitchell and we’re all present and correct.”  
Callum grimaces at the way Stuart refers to Ben. He’s not being fair. He doesn’t know him, and he doesn’t see the real man underneath the tough exterior. Not like Callum has.  
“How’s he gettin’ here anyway?” asks Stuart. “There ain’t no trains’ll get him up here at this time of the mornin’.”  
Callum’s heart turns cold. He hadn’t thought this through. “Uh, d-dunno,” he stammers. “Maybe he came up last night. No idea. I ain’t spoken to him. I ain’t even got his number. You’re the only one who’s got that.”  
Stuart gives him a questioning look. “It’s alright bruv. I wasn’t expectin’ ya to. It was one of them rhetorical questions. You ain’t Ben Mitchell’s keeper.” He peers a little more closely at Callum. “You alright? You look a bit green around the gills.”  
“I’m fine,” says Callum. “Just wanna get started.”  
He heads off towards the last house they’d been working in on the Friday afternoon, waving a greeting to Tubbs, Martin Fowler and Keanu as he goes.

If he was prone to fits of romance, he’d say he knows the exact moment Ben walks into the kitchen ten minutes later. Maybe there’s a change in the electrical charge in the atmosphere. Maybe it’s a case of his soul detecting it before his senses become aware, but it’s no surprise when he hears a footstep and that familiar drawl saying, “Mornin’ campers!” from somewhere close behind him.  
He turns and affects a nonchalance he’s not feeling. “Y’alright?”  
“Never better,” says Ben, throwing him a look that’s at once cheeky and loving.  
“Didn’t think we’d be seein’ you til lunchtime,” grunts Stuart from where he’s started fitting a door to a wall cabinet. “How d’ya get up here so quick?”  
Callum freezes, but Ben doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Come up last night, didn’t I? Seein’ as I reckoned you wouldn’t be offerin’ yer services as a chauffeur.” He claps Callum on the arm. “If I’da known where you was stayin’ we coulda met up.”  
“Yeah, he don’t need any more time with you than he already gets,” says Stuart, waving his screwdriver in Ben’s direction.  
“That right?” asks Ben, winking at Callum.  
Callum blanches, and turns to carry out some meaningless fiddling with the hinge he’d fitted last thing on Friday.

It’s strange, being in such close proximity to Ben and not being allowed to touch him anymore. A couple of times in the course of the morning Callum has to rein himself in, conscious that Stuart is never very far away from the pair of them.  
His feelings about Ben notwithstanding, he’s feeling genuinely guilty about avoiding Whitney all weekend. He tries to redeem himself at lunchtime by making a surprise call to her. She’s working on her stall, and to say his reception is lukewarm would be an understatement.  
“Oh, so yer talkin’ to me now, yeah?” she mutters when he greets her.  
“Babe, I was always talkin’ to ya,” says Callum, fiddling with the lace of his boot and resolutely not looking over to where Ben is standing with Martin Fowler and Keanu, very obviously pretending he’s not listening in to the call. “I just needed a bit of time to meself, that’s all.”  
“Right,” she says, sounding unconvinced. “And you’ve got yer head together now, have ya?”  
“Yeah,” he says, sounding scarcely more convinced himself.  
There’s a pause. In the background on Whitney’s end of the line Callum can hear the sounds of the market. Suddenly, he misses it. He’ll be glad to get home at the end of the week.  
“Cal,” begins Whitney. She sounds nervous. “You ain’t havin’ second thoughts about the weddin’, are ya? I mean… I dunno, there ain’t another woman or somethin’, is there?” She laughs as she says it, as if she realises how ridiculous she’s being, but underneath it there’s a note of fear.  
Callum takes a breath. “Don’t be daft. Course there ain’t another woman. What, you think I’ve had time to meet one up here in between all the work?” He sees Ben turn towards him as he hears his words. He stares at the floor in front of his feet so as to avoid his gaze.  
On the phone, Whitney huffs out a laugh of relief. “No, course not. I just…I dunno. You seem distant lately.”  
“That’s cos I’m in Manchester, ain’t it babe?” says Callum, letting a grin enter his voice.  
“Ha, funny,” she says, sounding only half-amused.  
“You don’t need to worry. I’ll be home at the weekend, promise.”  
“OK, but call me, right? Not every night if you don’t want, but sometimes, yeah?”  
“Yeah, course.”  
“OK, love ya.”  
Callum looks up to see Ben staring right at him with an unreadable expression on his face. He turns his back on him. “Same.”  
“Say it then.”  
“What?”  
“Say ya love me.”  
Callum scuffs the toe of his boot on the floor. It’s not a lie. He does love her. He’s beginning to realise he may not be ‘in love’ with her though. He plays for time. “There’s people around.”  
“So? S’never stopped ya before.”  
“I’ve gotta go Whit. Speak soon, yeah?” He hangs up quickly and pockets his phone, then strides out of the kitchen past the others.  
Once outside, he leans against the wall of the house and takes a few deep breaths. It’s a lovely autumn day, cold but sunny. Just the kind he likes. The building site is a hive of activity, JCB’s, men in hard hats and hi-vis vests, lorries coming and going, each playing their part in building this new estate that’ll become a little community of its own in years to come.  
He’s joined a few seconds later by Ben. He leans against the wall at Callum’s side and they both stare straight ahead.  
“That’s still goin’ on then, is it?” asks Ben. “You ain’t changed yer mind?”  
Callum sighs heavily. “You knew what this was when you got into it, Ben.”  
“I know, I know,” Ben assures him. He’s still staring straight ahead. “I just thought you mighta had second thoughts.”  
They stand in silence for a minute. Callum doesn’t know what to say. He feels such a physical pull towards the younger man, but everything he’s ever known is telling him that it’s nothing to build a life upon, not like he can have with Whit.  
He’s about to try and explain this all to Ben, when the younger man speaks first.  
“Yer right. I’m just bein’ an idiot.” He turns to face Callum, a smile on his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just ignore me, got a bit carried away for a sec. Sorry.”

Callum’s noticed how Ben is very good at compartmentalising his feelings. Watching them work side by side that afternoon, he guesses a casual observer would assume they’d only very recently met, so reserved is Ben towards him. It so happens there are observers in their group who are much more than casual, though. Martin Fowler, for one.  
At dinner that evening he’s sitting beside Callum. While the others are deep into a conversation about Brexit (Stuart for, Ben against, Tubbs sitting on the fence and Keanu clueless), Martin Fowler leans in and says in an undertone, “It’s back on then, yeah? You ‘n’ him?”  
Callum tries not to let the panic show on his face. “What? What makes ya think that?”  
“Cos he’s back to bein’ the life and soul of the party, says Martin Fowler. “And you’re lookin’ at him like he hung the moon for ya.”  
Callum blushes. “Don’t be daft,” he says weakly.  
“Am I wrong?” asks Martin Fowler.  
Callum’s lack of a response tells him all he needs to know.  
“It stopped for a while, didn’t it? How’d it start up again though?”  
He waits for Callum to reply, and then realisation dawns on his face. “Oh. Right. He stayed up here an’ all, didn’t he?”  
Callum stares forlornly down at his lap, shaking his head softly. He knows he’s in this too deep now. He feels like he’s drowning. “We didn’t plan it,” he says plaintively. Suddenly a thought occurs to him. “Well, I didn’t, anyway.”  
Beside him, Martin Fowler sighs. “Yer playin’ a dangerous game, Cal. Maybe you ought to call it off before people get hurt.”  
“I know, I know!” says Callum. “You’re right, I just can’t- ”  
“What you two whisperin’ about?” demands Tubbs, bored with the Brexit talk.  
Callum glances up, wide-eyed, to see everyone staring at them.  
“Yer mum,” pronounces Martin Fowler.  
As the conversation moves on, Ben holds Callum’s gaze with a questioning look. Callum can’t bear it. He stands up abruptly.  
“I’m gonna have an early night,” he announces. He walks away from the table to a chorus of ‘goodnights’. When the conversation has resumed and he’s walked a few paces, he turns back and makes eye contact with Ben. Ben nods imperceptibly.  
It’s barely ten minutes later when he hears Ben’s key card in the door. As soon as he’s in the room Callum crosses to push him back up against the door, his hands gripping his hips tight and his lips bruising against Ben’s.  
When they come up for air, Ben says, “Hello you.” He’s panting slightly.  
“Hello yerself,” says Callum. “Missed ya.”  
Ben seems to puff up with pride, a smile that he can’t fight spreading over his face. “Missed you too. It’s torture not bein’ able to touch ya.”  
“You still want this then?” asks Callum.  
“Never stopped,” says Ben, pulling him down for another kiss.  
Callum extricates himself with an effort. “But seriously, Ben. I am gonna marry Whit. It’s all I can do.” He runs his fingers through Ben’s hair. “You sure you can handle that?”  
“I’m gonna have to, ain’t I?” says Ben with a studiedly blank face. He pulls Callum back down for another kiss.

Waking up with Ben snuggled in close to his body is something Callum could get used to. In the early morning light, when his defences aren’t fully back in place ready for the day ahead, he can half-admit to himself that he loves sex with Ben. Their bodies fit so well together; they each understand what the other wants in the ebb and flow of their love-making. He doesn’t have to try so hard because it all comes so naturally. Last night, when they’d finally finished and lay panting in each other’s arms, he’d felt content. Fulfilled.  
It’s not enough to build a life upon though. Of that Callum is sure. He couldn’t walk down the road hand in hand with the younger man and be taken seriously by the folks back at Walford. He’d forever be known as the odd one out.  
Callum, great bloke, but had you heard? He’s not quite one of us. No, you’d never think it to look at him. It’s sad really, he’d be such a good catch for one of the girls round here. Weird to think he prefers to be with that stroppy little runt that used to work on the car lot. What is it that goes wrong in someone’s brain to make them want to do THAT?  
He knows this is what people say. He’s heard his dad say similar things on more than one occasion. Stuart, too, when he’s had a skinful.  
He knows, too, that his time with Ben is running out, but he can’t think about that now. If he did, it would break him. Instead he plants soft kisses on Ben’s shoulder and neck until he wakes up, and then slides under the covers to oblige him one more time before they have to get ready for work. 

It’s an effort to keep their hands off each other at work, and it’s getting increasingly difficult. His frustration on the Tuesday morning is made worse by the twenty minutes they’d snatched in bed before getting up, and he knows Ben feels the same from the longing looks he keeps throwing in his direction. Eventually, when Stuart’s gone to the house next door to take orders for the lunch run, Ben gives in.  
“Alone at last!”  
He crowds Callum up against the kitchen counter and slides his hands into his back pockets, reaching up to kiss him hard.  
Callum grabs his face and responds with as much passion and frustration as he feels in the younger man, until there’s a sound in the doorway and Stuart’s voice says, “Forgot me phone.”  
They pull apart, and there’s a terrible silence that’s broken by Stuart exclaiming, “What the fuck?”  
“Stu - ” says Callum. His voice cracks.  
Stuart strides across the room and pulls Ben away from Callum by his collar, before landing a hard punch on his jaw.  
Ben stumbles, and Stuart’s next punch lays him out flat. Stuart kicks him hard where he lies, and Ben quickly curls into a foetal position in a futile attempt to protect himself. Callum is yelling at Stuart to stop, pushing and pulling at him, but his brother seems to have developed super-human strength. He’s yelling at both of them, his words coming in short gasps as he kicks Ben again.  
“I knew he was no good. I warned ya, didn’t I? Didn’t I warn ya? Disgustin’!”  
There are scuffled footsteps in the doorway and then Tubbs and Martin Fowler are pulling Stuart off Ben and holding him back. He’s breathing heavily and he looks at Callum with revulsion. Callum drops to the floor to help Ben.  
The younger man is deathly pale and sucking in air in short gasps. He’s got a livid bruise appearing on his jaw already, and he’s shaking from the adrenalin and the effort of steeling his body against the vicious kicks he’d received. His eyes look glazed, unfocused.  
“Ben, look at me,” implores Callum, almost in tears. “Look at me, you’re OK.”  
At the sound of his voice Ben seems to come to, and he focusses on Callum, his eyes reflecting the shock Callum feels. He struggles to sit up, and when Callum tries to tell him to stay where he is while they assess the damage, he says in a rough voice, “I’m OK. Nothin’s broken. I’m OK.”  
“What the fuck was that all about?” asks Tubbs, from where he’s still grappling alongside Martin Fowler to keep Stuart away from Ben.  
“It’s him!” exclaims Stuart. “That piece of filth has bin tryin’ it on with my Callum. I caught ‘im kissin’ ‘im.”  
Keanu snorts and begins laughing, until Martin Fowler tells him to wind his neck in. Callum looks up and sees the look of resignation and disappointment on Martin Fowler’s face. Tubbs doesn’t look particularly surprised either, though, and Callum begins to realise that this secret little world he thought he’d built with Ben was nothing but a delusion. He can’t bear their eyes on him.  
“Disgustin’ little pervert!” says Stuart, trying and failing to release himself from the arm lock Tubbs has got him in.  
“Stuart, you ain’t being’ cool, man,” says Tubbs. “Go and sit in the van til you’ve calmed down.”  
“I ain’t leavin’ my brother - ”  
Tubbs twists Stuart round and begins manhandling him out of the room. “I ain’t tellin’ you again. Go and cool off. I’ll walk ya to the van meself if I have to.”  
There’s silence in the room after they’ve left. Ben pulls himself up to a standing position with help from Callum, and groans as he tries to flex his muscles, assessing the damage.  
“You should sit down,” says Callum. “You mighta ruptured somethin’.”  
“I ain’t,” says Ben. He pushes Callum away when he continues fussing. “I’ve taken enough beatin’s in me time to know what the damage is. It’s just bruisin’.” He gives Callum a soft look, more concerned about reassuring him than he is with his own injuries. “Honest, Cal, don’t worry.”  
Callum glances round at Keanu and Martin Fowler, afraid of their reaction to the soft tone of Ben’s voice that’s given away more than Callum is comfortable with. Keanu looks away, embarrassed. Martin Fowler is still looking at him with disappointment on his face.  
“Go an’ sort things out with yer brother,” says Ben. “Go on.”

Tubbs is sitting in the van with Stuart when Callum heads over. He can see Stuart gesticulating, his features twisted as he no doubt tells Tubbs what a no-good piece of scum Ben Mitchell is. Tubbs opens the van door and hops out when he sees Callum approaching.  
“Have a word with ‘im,” he says. “Try an’ calm ‘im down. I’m gonna take Ben back to the hotel, he could probably do with sleepin’ it off.”  
“Sleepin’ it off?” exclaims Callum. “He ain’t had a few too many pints, Tubbs! He might have concussion or anythin’.”  
“You wanna go back and keep an eye on ‘im?” asks Tubbs in a matter of fact voice. “Or you wanna try and sort things out with yer brother?”  
When he sees the indecision on Callum’s face, his tone softens. “Listen, I’ll stop a coupla hours with ‘im, just in case. I gotta get back here later though or we’ll never finish this bleedin’ job.”  
He pats Callum on the shoulder as he heads back into the house, and Callum takes a deep breath before climbing up into the passenger seat of the van.  
Stuart is staring straight ahead, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth.  
“You shouldn’ta done that,” says Callum.  
“What was I supposed to do? Seein’ you an’ him like…that,” asks Stuart, sounding genuinely upset. He shakes his head in disbelief.  
Callum has no idea how to respond to him. Eventually, Stuart says, “So he’s been trying it on with ya? I knew he was no good. It’s what people like him do, innit?”  
“No, he ain’t been tryin’ it on,” says Callum. He can’t bear hearing the way Stuart talks about Ben. He knows Ben isn’t the person Stuart’s painting him to be, and he knows that he should at least take some of the responsibility for this mess they all find themselves in. “I mean, he ain’t bin forcin’ me into anythin’,” he qualifies.  
Stuart stares round at him as if he’s seeing him for the very first time.  
“So, you LET him do that to ya?” The look of disgust on his face is so strong, Callum can’t bear to look at him, even if it is only what he deserves. “You let him do anythin’ else?” asks Stuart.  
At Callum’s silence, he scrubs his face with his hand. “Oh good god! What the hell’s got into ya, Callum?”  
”I dunno,” says Callum, shamefaced. He searches for a way to excuse it all. “It was just…scratchin’ an itch. You know what it’s like – long lonely nights away, apart from your loved ones.”  
“Yeah, I do. I get lonely too, Callum, but I ain’t jumped into bed with Tubbs, have I?”  
Callum shakes his head in despair. “Course not, but Ben’s not Tubbs, is he? And like I said, he just happened to be there -”  
“To scratch an itch for ya.”  
Stuart is looking at him like he’s something he’s just trodden in. He’s never looked at Callum like that before, in all their years.  
“Yeah,” whispers Callum. It sounds like a weak defence, even to his own ears.  
Stuart twists round in his seat to face him properly, and his face softens to a more sympathetic expression. “Callum, be honest with me. Are you…gay?” He looks uncomfortable saying the word. “Is that what this is all about?”  
There’s a long pause, where Callum begins to think maybe he could confide in Stuart. Maybe he could be honest. Could everything be OK if only he told him what he really felt? He opens his mouth to speak, but at that point Stuart continues, “Cos if you were, you’d be a laughing stock, you know that, right? People like that, they’re just a joke.” He jabs his finger at Callum. “Ben Mitchell is just a joke.”  
Martin Fowler and Tubbs hadn’t laughed. Keanu had, but two out of three was pretty good odds. Stuart stares at Callum expectantly. He’s still looking at him like he’s a stranger.  
“Well?”  
“Nah, course not… I’m not like that.” says Callum, ignoring his breaking heart.  
“You need to go home and get married to Whit and forget all about this nonsense,” says Stuart, nodding his head to give weight to his words. “You’ve just made a stupid mistake, an’ I won’t say another word about it if you do the right thing.”  
“I don’t know what the right thing is!” exclaims Callum.  
“Course ya do,” says Stuart in a firm voice. “You always were easily led, Callum. Don’t do something just cos you feel you’ve been trapped into it by other people. Do what’s right for you. Don’t spend yer entire life feelin’ bad about yerself, Cal – which you will do if you keep messin’ around with the likes of Ben Mitchell. Do the right thing.” He reaches over and gives Callum a hug, rubbing his back soothingly as if they’ve reconciled. “You’ll be alright. You’ve just gotta put this behind ya. I’ll have a word with the lads, make sure they don’t say a word about it. You’ll be OK, bruv.”  
Callum submits to his hug, feeling like he’s betrayed Ben.  
As they part, he sees Stuart’s expression change. “He’d better not come anywhere near ya again,” he says in a warning tone.  
Callum looks around. Ben is just approaching the other van with Tubbs. He’s walking with an effort, Tubbs with a supportive hand on his shoulder. Stuart opens the door of the van and jumps out before Callum can stop him. He follows him more slowly, sizing the situation up to see if he’s going to need to jump in between them both.  
Tubbs holds out a warning hand. “Leave it, Stu.”  
“I ain’t comin’ anywhere near that piece of shit,” says Stuart. He swaggers around the side of the van. “So, just scratchin’ an itch,” he announces. “That’s what Callum said. I dunno if you thought you was in some epic ‘love’ story with my brother, Mitchell, but that’s all it was to him. Just scratchin’ an itch. Just thought you’d like ta know.”  
Watching Ben, Callum sees hurt flash in his eyes before he closes his expression down. He glances quickly at Callum but gets into Tubbs’ van without another word, and they drive off.  
Stuart turns back to Callum. “C’mon bruv, why dontcha come on the lunch run with me?”  
Callum pushes him away. “Yer just carryin’ on like nothin’s happened? Yer a piece of work, ain’t ya, Stu!” He strides away across the building site. He doesn’t know where he’s going, he just knows he needs to get away from the lot of them. His heart is breaking and no one needs to see.

“Yer gonna have to change rooms,” says Stuart as they drive back to the hotel that evening. “I ain’t havin’ ya sharin’ no more with that pervert.”  
“I don’t need to change rooms, Stuart,” says Callum. He’s been desperate to get back to Ben all afternoon, to the extent that he’d worked three times faster than normal, hoping they could leave a bit earlier than their usual knocking off time. Tubbs had arrived back on-site at about three, and popped his head into the kitchen Callum was working on to let him know that Ben was OK, just getting some rest when he left him.  
“I’ll pay for an extra room meself, if I need to,” says Stuart, revving the engine at a set of traffic lights. Suddenly he peers round at Callum. “Wait up!”  
“What?” says Callum.  
Stuart whacks his forehead with his palm. “I’m such an idiot! He never went home this weekend, did he? You an’ him was up here together. I’m right ain’t I?”  
Callum doesn’t need to answer. He couldn’t if he tried, anyway. He’d been so cocooned in his little make-believe world with Ben he’d forgotten about the real world. He remembers the Saturday morning, when he and Ben had been standing at the window of their hotel room, naked. Or the afternoon, holding hands in the art gallery, and he sees it all through Stuart’s eyes. The eyes of the majority. He feels sick, he’s so ashamed. He realises what a mistake he’s made, ever thinking it could be right.  
“You never bothered goin’ home to Whit, that beautiful girl of yours, cos you preferred to spend yer weekend getting’ up to god knows what with that pervert.” Stuart shakes his head in disgust again. “What the hell’s got into ya, Callum? He’s turned ya, ain’t he?”  
Callum suddenly feels weary. “Stu, let’s just get back to the hotel, yeah? I could do with a kip. I don’t wanna talk about this no more.”  
A car sounds its horn behind them. The lights have changed to green and they’re still stopped in front of them.  
Stuart swears, and pulls off just as the lights change back to amber and then red. “You lied to me, the pair of ya. I mean, I wouldn’t expect anything different from that nasty little queer, but you, Callum. You let me think the pair of you’d argued, when all along…What the hell sort of a mess have ya got yerself into?”  
“We had argued,” says Callum. “He went to get a train and then came back and found me.”  
“Oh, so he’s bin chasin’ ya? Wait til I get my hands on him again.”  
Suddenly, Callum finds his anger at this whole sorry situation. “No, Stuart! You won’t be gettin’ yer hands on him! Just leave him alone. I’m as much to blame as he is, so just leave it, yeah?”

Back at the hotel, he scrabbles with his key card and bursts into the room, desperate to make things right with Ben even if, long-term, there’s no future there. He’s brought up short when he realises the room is empty. The kind of echoing empty that suggests a departure has taken place.  
None of Ben’s clothes are hanging in the wardrobe. None of his belongings litter the room like they normally do. The rumpled covers on the bed only show where he’d lain earlier that afternoon.  
Callum sits on the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands. He should have known everything would end up in this almighty mess, but he’d happily carried on, ignoring the warning signs, thinking he could cheat the consequences. Now he’s well and truly fucked up, and people are getting hurt, just like he’d known they would. He hates himself for how selfish he’s been.  
He scrubs his hands wearily over his face and glances around the room. There’s a folded piece of hotel notepaper on the dressing table.  
He crosses to pick it up. His name is scrawled on one side. He unfolds it and reads Ben’s message:  
Cal,  
Well we always knew something like this would happen eventually - we were always sailing close to the wind, weren’t we? I thought it would be best if I left. You obviously are not ready to face up to things, and I don’t know if you ever will be. I don’t want to make things worse for you with Stuart. With me out the picture maybe you can salvage this.  
At least we’ll have our weekend to remember. Just don’t rewrite our story – promise? I didn’t ‘prey’ on you, like Stuart seems to think. You know I didn’t.  
Be happy, and if that means going ahead and marrying Whitney, then be happy doing that.  
Love (or whatever)  
Ben  
X  
Callum wipes away the tears that had started falling down his cheeks before he’d even reached the second line of the letter. He smooths the sheet of paper between his palms, remembering the soft look Ben always used to give him. That look. That soft look will stay with him always.

THIRTEEN  
The Square is still busy, even though it’s tea-time and the market closed up an hour ago. The nights are beginning to draw in although it’s still pretty mild so far. Callum sits on the bench in the middle of the garden with his arms hugged tight around himself. He’s not cold, he just needs some comfort from somewhere, and while there’s no one else to provide it, he’ll look out for himself. He might need to do a lot of that in the days to come when life gets hard.  
Behind him at the far side of the Square Whitney’s house is lit up, every room illuminated as the daylight begins to fade. Almost directly opposite on the other side, in front of Callum, Ben’s house is in complete darkness apart from the light behind the front door.  
People have been hurt by his actions. He, Callum Highway, has always tried to do right by everyone around him, kidding himself that he’s different to his dad, but in the end he’s hurt them anyway. His dad might throw punches and cruel words, but Callum hurts people by stealth, killing them with kindness by letting them think he loves them and then letting them down. Maybe he’s worse than his dad, because he puts on a caring front and then stabs people in the back anyway. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t even love himself, especially at the moment, and he’s certainly hurting as much as anyone else in this whole sorry mess.  
Well, not any more. He is going to do what’s right. He has a duty to Whitney. To Ben. To himself. He’s going to do the right thing.  
He stands up and takes one last look across at Ben’s house, then walks away in the opposite direction, back to safety. Back to Whitney.  
She looks worried when she answers the door to his knock. They stand silently in the doorway for a few seconds, before he realises he’s going to have to be the one to make this right.  
He steps forward and puts his arms around her. She feels small, and delicate. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re right. I’ve bin havin’ second thoughts about the weddin’.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’ve got me head together now and I absolutely know it’s the right thing. It’ll be the makin’ of us, me especially.” He steps back and releases her from his hug. “You will be the makin’ of me, Whit.”  
Her face clears into relief, and she smiles softly at him. “’S just pre-weddin’ jitters, ain’t it? Everyone has ‘em.” She reaches up and strokes his cheek. “I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t had ‘em too. It’s a big step to take, ain’t it?”  
For a split second his heart stirs, as if maybe it’s found a way out of this. “Yeah?” he says. “You wanna take some time to think about it?”  
“Course not. I’ve waited to get married for so long, Cal, and I know we can be happy.”  
She gives him a soft look and then turns and leads the way up the hallway to the kitchen as he turns to close the door behind himself. Before he does, he takes one last look back across the Square. He’s doing the right thing. For everyone concerned. It doesn’t matter what his heart might want, there’s rules and norms in society for a reason, and marriage is one of those norms. He’s doing the right thing. He closes the door.

Martin Fowler and Tubbs are still giving him worried looks on the Monday when they all go back to work. They’d been doing it all the previous week after Ben disappeared, although they hadn’t actually said anything. They’re all based at a site in Essex for the next two weeks, so there’s no staying in hotels because they can make the journey there and back in the same day. It means he’ll get to spend more time with Whit, get to rekindle their relationship before they’re married in five weeks’ time. In a way, he’s relieved that he won’t have to stay in a hotel room, because there’s been a change in their little team. Stuart had cursed and called Ben all the names under the sun when he didn’t arrive at the van at their agreed departure time that morning, while Callum had flipped between worry and relief. The reason for Ben’s non-appearance becomes clear at lunchtime.  
“Mitchell will not be coming back,” announces Stuart. He puts down his phone from where he’s just taken a call from head office. “He’s resigned with immediate effect.”  
More concerned looks at Callum from Martin Fowler and Tubbs, and a snigger from Keanu.  
“Who’s gonna keep ya warm at night now then, Cal?”  
“Shut up Keanu,” says Martin Fowler.  
“Yeah, don’t be a twat Keanu,” says Tubbs.  
Callum glares at him, but can’t maintain eye contact in the face of the derision he sees in Keanu’s expression. The kid clearly thinks he’s risen up the pecking order since the discovery about Callum.  
“We won’t miss him,” pronounces Stuart. “We can get twice the amount of work done without Mitchell gettin’ under our feet.”  
“BEN!” exclaims Callum. “His name’s Ben! And he worked a damn sight harder than you ever did, Stuart.”  
Keanu snorts. “I bet he did!”  
Stuart chuckles along with him, and Callum can’t bear their judgment. He jumps to his feet and strides off across the site, looking for somewhere to hide and nurse his wounds. He’s made his decision. He knows he’s doing what’s right, but that doesn’t mean that other people, people who didn’t even take the time to get to know Ben properly, can trash what they had together. It wouldn’t have worked in the long term, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean something to Callum. He will always remember that soft look Ben used to give him. The note Ben left him is folded and stored safely in his wallet, to remind himself that once he had a true, complete connection with another human being. He’s only ever had that once before, and there are no artefacts from that other time, only memories, becoming increasingly faded as the years go by.  
Martin Fowler and Tubbs corner him a few minutes later outside the show home where he’s hunkered down, hidden away between a pile of breeze blocks and a JCB.  
“Ignore Keanu, mate,” says Tubbs. “He’s a twat.”  
“Ben ain’t like what they say,” says Callum, almost in tears. “He’s worth a hundred of Keanu. And of Stuart,” he adds in an afterthought. “They didn’t know ‘im properly.”  
“You gonna keep in touch with ‘im?” asks Martin Fowler.  
Callum shakes his head sadly. “I can’t, can I? I’m gettin’ married soon.”  
He sees Martin Fowler and Tubbs exchange a look above his head.  
“You still goin’ ahead with that then?” asks Tubbs.  
“Course.” Callum rubs his eyes with the back of his hand. “What else can I do?”  
“Well…” begins Martin Fowler.  
“I’ve made a promise,” insists Callum. “I’m gonna do the right thing.”  
“Well, yeah, but the right thing for who?” asks Martin Fowler.  
“Whitney,” says Callum, her name taking on an almost sacred feel on his tongue. “Ben, too.” He looks up despairingly at Tubbs and Martin Fowler. “I can’t be with him, can I? I’d be a laughin’ stock. I mean, look at Keanu’s reaction. There’s a lot more out there would react even worse.” He’s thinking of his dad as he says it. Jonno would not just react with harsh words. His thoughts follow the loop they always seem to follow these days when he thinks of his dad. Callum is just as bad. He just hurts people in a more subtle way, when they’re least expecting it. “I’ve led Ben on,” he says. “Made him think we coulda had somethin’ when I ain’t got anythin’ to give. Not to him.”  
Tubbs hunkers down beside him. “What about doin’ the right thing for you?” he asks.  
Callum lets out a bitter laugh. “Well that ain’t the right thing for me, is it? Bein’ with a bloke?”  
“Seemed like it mighta bin,” says Tubbs softly. “You seemed happier when he was around.”  
“Yeah,” adds Martin Fowler. “You just look knackered now. You bin sleepin’ alright?”  
Callum shakes his head dismissively. “What is this? An intervention?” He stands up and pushes past them to set off back to the house he’s been working on. They keep pace with him, one either side. “I’m fine. Everything’ll settle back down and in a few weeks’ time I’ll be a happily married man. Whit’s a lovely girl, I’m punching well above me weight with ‘er.”  
Their joint silence speaks volumes. He ignores it, and they stop to let a bathroom fittings van drive past them, its suspension bouncing and creaking as it bumps across the uneven site. “Thanks, anyway,” he says to Tubbs as an afterthought. “I never realised you knew about it all. Thanks for keepin’ yer mouth shut.”  
“Ain’t nothin’ to do with me,” says Tubbs. “I mean, I can’t personally understand what a bloke would see in another bloke, but I ain’t judgin’. It takes all sorts, don’t it? You just gotta get yer comfort where you can find it, whichever way’s best for ya.”  
“I’m gonna marry Whit,” says Callum defiantly, sensing a judgment in Tubbs’ words despite his denial.  
When he gets back to the kitchen he’s working on, Stuart is already back there. He turns from the task he’d been absorbed in when he hears Callum walk in.  
“Listen, bruv,” he says in a conciliatory tone. “I’ve had a word with Keanu, told ‘im to lay off ya.”  
Callum glares at him. “That might carry more weight Stuart if you hadn’t bin laughin’ along with ‘im. You want me to be grateful, do ya?”  
A resigned look appears on Stuart’s face. He shakes his head. “You’re bein’ a right mardy arse at the moment. Ya need to snap out of it or me ‘n’ you’s gonna fall out, big time.” He carries on with what he’s doing, muttering under his breath. “I’ve tried me best with ya, Callum. You’ve taken a wrong turn but I ain’t turned me back on ya, have I? I coulda done. Lots of men would, if they’d realised their little brother was getting’ up to all sorts of disgustin’ things with another bloke, but no. I stood by ya.”  
Callum opens his mouth to protest, but then realises the truth of Stuart’s words. He’s going to need all the friends he can get in the coming months. Never mind that in his unguarded moments he feels like his heart’s been broken, when he thinks about it all sensibly and without emotion, he knows he needs to return to the fold, get his life settled back into what it should be. Stupid thoughts about his heart being broken, well, they’re just a bit…gay… aren’t they?  
“I know,” he says sadly. “I’m sorry.”

It seems like life moves on with indecent haste. The following Monday when he turns up at the van ready to set off back to Essex, there’s a new kid leaning against it, chatting easily with Stuart. He’s young and fresh-faced and keen. He fixes Callum with a wide smile.  
“Cal, this is our new team-mate,” says Stuart. “Keegan Baker. Me brother, Callum Highway.”  
The kid holds out his hand for Callum to shake it, and a wave of despair washes over Callum. He takes a step back. Ben is out of his life, for good. Logically, he’s been aware of that fact, but it’s now that the reality is hitting him with a new, deeper, level of emotion.  
He shoots a desperate look at Stuart. “I can’t do this anymore,” he says. “I’m sorry Stu.”  
Stuart is smiling a bemused smile, as if he thinks Callum’s pulling his leg. “What?”  
“I just can’t do it,” repeats Callum. “Tell’ em they’ll have to find a replacement for me.”  
He backs away and then turns and strides back across the Square, Stuart’s shouts following him. He doesn’t look back.

He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t go back to Stuart’s or Whit’s, and he can’t hang around the Square all day in case Whitney catches sight of him, so he gets on a tube and thinks of a number, and then gets off the tube once he’s travelled through that many stations. He walks for a bit and ends up on the South Bank, sitting desolately on a bench and watching the dirty brown river flow past. He’s surrounded by tourists who seem happy enough to be wandering around on a cold autumn day being fleeced by extortionate snack and souvenir vendors.  
He watches a couple of Japanese tourists snog the faces off each other. They’re with a group of friends, but they seem glued to each other, the girl snuggled in under the boy’s arm as they move off. He can have that. Him and Whitney. He’s sure they used to look just as loved-up to the outside world. He can have it again, he just needs to work at it. He loves Whitney with all his heart. They were fine before Ben Mitchell appeared on the scene with his sarky comments and cheeky grins and poorly-concealed vulnerability. They’ll be fine again.

At lunchtime he heads up towards Leicester Square and ends up watching a movie, mainly to get in out of the cold. It’s what Whit would call a ‘boy’s’ film - lots of car-chases and shoot-outs - but there’s also an underlying romance plot that she might have liked, where the square-jawed hero, impossibly handsome in a generic Hollywood way, employs a succession of wise-cracks and daring escapades to impress an impossibly beautiful woman with long blond hair and heaving breasts that are hard to ignore. Callum focuses on them as much as he can. Maybe it’ll help.

Afterwards, he wanders around aimlessly for a while and then realises he’s going to have to go home and face the music, so he sets off back to Walford with a heavy heart.  
He arrives back and emerges from the tube station just as Stuart’s van speeds past. It stops abruptly with a squeak of brakes, and then reverses level with him. He keeps walking. Stuart drives the van slowly alongside him and then, when he sees he’s not going to stop, slams his hand on the horn and keeps it there.  
Callum can’t ignore him any longer, so he glowers up at the cab. Two faces stare back at him. Keegan, looking mystified, and Stuart peering round from behind him, looking incensed. He stops walking and awaits the ordeal. He sees Stuart mutter something to Keegan, and then the lad opens the door and slides out, smiling uncertainly at Callum as the van engine idles.  
“He, uh…he wants you to get in,” he says.  
Callum rolls his eyes, but obeys, and watches Keegan head off up the road towards wherever home is. He can sense that Stuart is staring hard at him from the driver’s seat. He can’t find the energy to say anything, so they sit in silence.  
“Well?” says Stuart at last.  
Callum still can’t think of anything to say.  
Stuart huffs. “OK, so yer sulkin’.” He waits, and still Callum doesn’t respond. “Ever since that nasty little queer got his claws into ya, you’ve bin in a strop. Ain’t that a sign that he weren’t no good for ya, Callum?”  
Callum scrubs his face with his hands. He just can’t find any energy in himself to fight Stuart’s accusations.  
“What was this mornin’ all about?” asks Stuart. “I had to cover for ya, with head office. Said you was sick.”  
He clears his throat awkwardly. Callum can guess exactly what he’s thinking. Callum is sick, according to Stuart’s view of the world. Maybe he’s right.  
“I ain’t comin’ back,” he says eventually. “I can’t.”  
“What d’ya mean, ya can’t?” asks Stuart. “Is it cos yer embarrassed? Cos I told ya, I had a word with the lads. They won’t mention it again.”  
“No, it ain’t cos of that,” says Callum, his words suddenly coming out in a rush. “I can’t be there without - ” He stops abruptly, and glances round at Stuart, scared that he’s given too much away.  
Stuart’s expression indicates that he knows exactly what Callum nearly let slip: he can’t be there without Ben. Stuart looks vaguely nauseous. He clears his throat and then tries a sympathetic tone. “You just need to forget about the whole sorry episode. Go home and give Whit a massive cuddle, and you’ll soon be alright again.” He looks embarrassed. “You said it yerself, Cal. It was just scratchin’ an itch. Not like with Whit. I mean, there’s proper emotions involved there, ain’t there? She can scratch yer itches and give you all the other stuff that Ben bleedin’ Mitchell wouldn’t have bin able to.” He looks even more embarrassed. “You know, love an’…an’ that kinda thing. The emotional side.” He becomes more confident again, nodding his head to reinforce his point. “Cos people like HIM, they don’t do that kind of stuff. It’s all just about the physical side of things with them, ain’t it?”  
Callum is about to protest. He remembers love and emotion and connection with Ben, too, but Stuart glances across at him and must see it in his face, because he starts talking again, hurriedly, to shut him up. “Just go home to Whit, Callum. Think about what you wanna do, jobwise. I can cover for ya a couple more days til ya decide. Alright?”  
Callum swallows down the pain and the bitterness. “Yeah, OK.”

FOURTEEN  
The old woman holds on tight to the arms of the wheelchair and talks nineteen to the dozen as he pushes her away from the triage cubicles and towards the lift that will take them up to the geriatric ward on the fifth floor.  
“-and I told ‘im I didn’t want ‘im fussin’, but he just wouldn’t listen.”  
“Yeah?” says Callum, only half-listening himself. “’S a good job he did fuss though, innit, or you’d be in a lot more trouble than you are now.”  
“True…but to be honest, after fifty-five years of marriage you spend half the day hatin’ the sight of each other,” says the woman. She sighs. “Oh, I wouldn’t be without ‘im, I just wish he’d get himself a hobby, stop fussin’ around me.”  
Callum smiles as he parks her to face him and pushes the button for the lift. “Maybe that is his hobby.”  
She smiles back. “You married?”  
“Nah,” says Callum, awkward as usual when the spotlight’s on him. “Will be soon, though. Only another week, and me ‘n’ my Whit’ll be dancin’ down the aisle.” To his own ears, his sentence sounds sarcastic. Another week. The days seem to be speeding up the nearer they get, and his panic seems to be rising in direct proportion, too.  
The woman claps her hands together in glee. “Ooh, how lovely! She pretty?”  
“Yeah, course,” says Callum.  
“Well you’ll make a very handsome couple, then.”  
The lift arrives and he manoeuvres the wheelchair in backwards and stands to the side of her.  
“Tell you what makes a successful marriage,” says the woman. “No secrets. Tell each other everythin’. Oh – and get yerself a hobby.”  
He colours, and busies himself with adjusting the brake on the chair, thankful when the lift reaches its destination and he can wheel her out and deposit her at the nurse’s station.  
He hands over her paperwork to the nurse in charge and pats her on the arm. “You mind how you go now, you hear?”  
“Thank you dear. And you have a lovely wedding. Make it a special day.”  
He tries for a blinding smile. “Will do.”

On the way back down in the lift, he sighs deeply. It’s becoming harder and harder to keep up this pretence. Everyone’s expecting him to be excited about the wedding, Whitney included, and he can hear himself putting on more and more of a fake front with every conversation. The truth is, underneath the veneer of enthusiasm, he feels like he’s drowning. He just feels sad, and lacklustre.  
He’s always been sweet, lovely Callum, the people pleaser, and he’s been doing it for so long he falls into it automatically. The fact remains, though, that he’s miserable. What’s that phrase? ‘Fake it til you make it’? That’s what he’s doing, and he can only hope that if he does it for long enough, his mood will catch up.  
The one good thing that’s happened lately is that he’s fallen on his feet with this job. The week after he quit Bewitching Kitchens, he’d applied for a hospital porter job at Walford General and received the news that he’d been successful almost before he’d got home from the interview. It’s right up his street, helping people, being involved in all the drama of a busy hospital, but not having too much responsibility. All he needs to do is get bodies from A to B, some of them dead bodies, but that doesn’t faze him after his time in the army.  
The pay isn’t great, but he gets on well with his colleagues, and it’s a chance to reinvent himself a bit, away from Stuart. It also means he doesn’t spend most of his life away from Albert Square, staying in anonymous hotel rooms. He’s been able to take up exercise again, and he goes out running three or four times a week in the evenings. It’s a bit of a slog, given his general lack of energy at the moment, but it does mean he gets some time to himself. Time away from talk of weddings and a bit of brain space for himself.  
Time away, too, from Whitney, who’s mystified by his sudden career change, not to mention unhappy at the drop in his pay, and keeps testing out theories on why it’s happened, working up ever more outlandish ideas and bringing them to him for confirmation. So far, she’s not come near the real reason, and Callum is determined that she never will. He reflects on the old woman’s advice to him: keep no secrets and get a hobby. Well, the first one’s a non-starter, and as for the hobby he’s recently developed on the rare occasions Whitney’s out of the house, well… Watching gay porn with the lights out, sound down and half an ear listening for the front door opening is probably not what she had in mind. After every session, he clears his browser history and hates himself just a little bit more.

By the time he gets back down to the admissions wards it’s pretty much the end of his shift, so he waves goodbye to Daphne, one of the receptionists who’d befriended him almost as soon as he started the job. She seems to have a soft spot for him. She’s in her sixties but still has dyed black hair and thick black eyeliner. She must have spent most of her life smoking nearly fifty a day, and her skin is leathery and her voice gruff. She’s a big softie, though, and she blows him a kiss as he turns into the corridor that leads to the locker room.  
Someone’s left the local paper on the bench in front of his locker, so he grabs it to read on the bus on the way home. He’s keeping a close eye on the property pages. The drop in his pay has meant that he and Whit are probably not going to be able to buy a place outright just yet, but they do need to find somewhere to live together. Once they’re husband and wife they won’t be able to share a room at the Fowlers. They probably should have found somewhere long before the wedding, really.  
As he gets to the bus stop, one bus is just filling up and a second is idling behind it, waiting to pull into the space afterwards, so he avoids the rugby scrum for the first one and hangs back, making sure he’s in the right place to be one of the first onto the second one. He could do with a seat tonight, he’s been on his feet almost continuously all day.  
His luck’s in, and as he huddles in a seat near the back he runs his eyes down the rental listings in the paper. There are a few that meet their budget, but they’re a bit further out than he knows Whit would like, over in the West Ham direction. From his point of view, it would suit him just fine, meaning that he has less chance of running into Ben, who seems to be back at the car lot again from what Stuart’s worked out. He must’ve made it up with his dad, although Callum hopes that doesn’t mean he’s back to being involved in his dad’s dodgy activities. None of his business now though, he reminds himself.  
Being somewhere out of the Square will also mean they’re further away from Stuart himself, with the associated reduction in the risk that he’ll let something slip to Whitney in an unguarded moment. Callum’s tried to sweeten the pill by promising Whitney that they can use some of their savings to buy her a little van, so she can transport her stock to and from the market.  
When he gets home, Whitney’s in a panic. Her wedding dress has arrived, and the silk flowers are the wrong shade of pink. She’s virtually in tears. He kisses her and holds her close, and tries to think of something supportive to say, but to be honest, he can’t understand why she’s taking it so badly. Successful marriages do not depend on what shade of pink your dress is.  
When it becomes apparent that he’s not going to be able to calm her down, he decides it might be better for everyone concerned if he made himself scarce.  
“I’m gonna go for a run, babe,” he tells her.  
“Oh that’s right! You just leave me here to sort it out,” she yells at him.  
Callum shrugs. “I don’t see what difference me bein’ here is gonna make to the colour, Whit. And it feels like I’m just irritatin’ ya, so I’m gonna go out. OK?”  
He changes into his running gear and makes a hasty exit. It’s a damp night, drizzly and miserable, which suits his mood just right. He heads out towards the main road and then loops back around towards the Square, prolonging his run by taking an indirect route back, zipping in and out of the side streets. Here and there are houses with lights on in the windows, curtains not having been drawn yet. He kind of likes being able to glance in as he goes past, catching snapshots of other people’s lives as he goes. He passes houses in which televisions are flickering blue light into empty rooms; others with walls filled from floor to ceiling with bookshelves and, in one, a man sitting at the window playing the cello with eyes screwed shut, the sound muffled by the closed window. Callum wonders if any of the people he sees feel as bewildered by life as he does right now.  
He definitely can’t run as fast as he used to. Maybe he’s just out of practice, but he also wonders if his general lack of enthusiasm for life is having an impact. He wonders if he should go to the doctor, get himself checked out. He’d been reading a poster at work that had listed potential signs of depression, and had scared himself by realising that he could tick off at least four symptoms for himself. The Highway family have never had mental health problems; they’ve always just muddled through with a brave face; so he’s reluctant to make a fuss by speaking to a doctor.  
By the time he gets back to Albert Square he’s barely putting one foot in front of the other. There’s still a light on in the portacabin on the car lot, but as he approaches, it goes out and suddenly Ben is outside, pulling the door shut behind himself and locking it.  
“You still runnin’ away from that weddin’?” he calls out as he notices Callum. His tone is mocking, his voice brittle. “Must be soon now, mustn’t it?”  
“Saturday,” says Callum, slowing down to a walk as his heart speeds up at the sight of the younger man. He half hopes that they can chat. He could do with a friendly face at the moment.  
“Blimey. Only a few days of freedom left then,” says Ben. He pockets his keys and buttons up his coat, then sets out across the Square towards home. Over his shoulder, he calls, “Mind how ya go then, straight boy. I’ll pray for yer lost soul.” Callum stares after him, but he doesn’t look back.

It seems the crisis about Whit’s dress has been averted by the time he gets back – or at least, Whitney’s come to terms with the fact that she’ll be getting married in a dress that has silk flowers just the wrong side of amaranth, whatever that is. Callum’s pleased the furore’s died down. He’s had his own little drama to contend with, seeing Ben so indifferent and cold. The younger man’s wasted no time at all getting over their brief encounter, clearly. Callum needs to do the same. He needs to try harder.  
“I’m sorry about before,” says Whitney, appearing from the living room as he comes in the front door. “I’m developin’ into a right little bridezilla, ain’t I?”  
“Bit harsh,” says Callum, wiping the drizzle from his fringe.  
“But true,” says Whitney. “It ain’t about what happens on the day, is it? ‘S about the rest of our lives.”  
“I get it,” says Callum, refusing to consider that prospect. “You want it to be special.” He draws her into a hug, suddenly feeling a wave of warmth towards her. “And I want it to be special for ya, too. You deserve it, Whit.”  
She grimaces, and he realises how sweaty he is. “Sorry, I must stink. I’m gonna go and get a shower.”  
“I could join ya if ya like?” says Whitney.  
“No!” Callum hears the panic in his voice. “No, I mean, I’ll be a lot quicker without you to distract me.” She’s staring at him with a furrowed brow. “Maybe you could be waitin’ for me when I come out,” he suggests. “I could try and make ya feel better.”  
Her expression clears into a smile, and she practically skips up the stairs. “Don’t be long, then.”  
Once in the bathroom with the door safely locked, he turns the shower on and twists the dial to make the water as hot as he can bear it, then lets it run down over his shoulders while he stands, immobile, with his forehead pressed against the tiles.  
He can do this. It’s mind over matter. He’s got to stop feeling sorry for himself and just get on with it. Ben’s moved on. He’d shown no emotion just now when they bumped into each other. In fact, now Callum comes to think about their time together, it seemed Ben was a lot more emotionless and calculating about the whole episode. Hadn’t Callum suspected that he’d planned that weekend stay in Manchester? He’d known Callum would be at his weakest and had taken advantage. He’d been trying to turn Callum with his sweet kisses and whispered confidences, just like Stuart had said. At the time, it had felt like they were the only two people in the world, even though their love was doomed, but now, Ben’s back working for his dad and indifferent to the sight of Callum, so what was that weekend really all about? Just a bit of entertainment for Ben Mitchell.  
Shower finished, Callum pads barefoot to Whitney’s room clad only in a towel. She’s sitting on the side of her bed looking expectant, but still fully-dressed, as if she thinks he’ll have changed his mind. He throws his sweaty clothes in the hamper and crosses to stand in front of her.  
“What’s all this?” he asks.  
She frowns.  
“Yer a bit overdressed, Whit.” He can do this. He takes a deep breath. He unbuttons her blouse and pushes it off her shoulders, then bends to kiss her. She shrugs the rest of the way out of the blouse, and he reaches round to unclasp her bra. He takes another breath. He can do this.  
“Yer good at that,” says Whitney. “Undoing girls’ bras. You sure you ain’t had practice while you’ve bin away?”  
He stands back and smiles brightly at her. “Nah, just got very skilled fingers, ain’t I? Very dextrous.”  
“Yer certainly that,” agrees Whitney. She tugs at the towel round his waist and tosses it to one side, her eyes widening as she looks down at him. “Well, hello! Yer a sight for sore eyes, ain’t ya?”  
He can do this. He’d done it plenty before. Before…he’d come along. He can do it again. And if he spends the next twenty minutes with his eyes tight shut and his mind full of the noises Ben makes just before he comes, well. No one needs to know.

FIFTEEN

The registry office is packed, people Callum didn’t even know were invited sit upright in the plush straight-backed chairs in their fashionable finest. In contrast, Jonno’s slouched in the front row. Callum’s pretty sure Stuart told him to stay away, but he’s here anyway. A woman beside him is looking down at her lap, wearing a huge hat that obscures her face. It’s his mum.  
The venue is flooded with bright sunshine and it’s hot, unseasonably so for October. Callum adjusts his collar and wipes sweat from his top lip. Whitney isn’t there yet.  
The wedding march starts playing, and he yells at the registrar to stop. His bride isn’t here yet. They can’t do this without her. The wedding march increases in volume, drowning out his yells, and speeds up to its conclusion.  
“If any person present knows of any lawful impediment to this marriage they should declare it now.”  
“Yes! I do!” Everyone turns at the voice. Ben Mitchell is striding up the aisle, his left hand balled into a fist.  
Callum tries to speak, but he can’t make a sound. The room is getting hotter.  
“He can’t marry her, cos I’ve got his heart.” Ben raises his fist in which he’s holding the small, shrivelled organ. He squeezes it like a sponge, and as he raises his hand above his head, blood streaks down over his wrist, staining the crisp white cuff of his shirt. The congregation start to stamp their feet. Callum swipes more sweat from his lip and tries to loosen his collar. He feels like he’s choking. In the front row his mum raises her head. Underneath the wide brim of her hat, her face is featureless. There’s just a blank oval where her eyes, nose and mouth should be. The congregation are still stamping their feet, bang bang bang on the floor.  
Callum wakes up with a start, sweating and shaking.  
Someone is banging on his bedroom door.  
“C’mon bruv, wake up,” calls Stuart. “Today’s the big day.”  
He lies still, willing his racing heart to return to its normal pace. The bedclothes are twisted around him, and he’s soaking with sweat, his t-shirt sticking to his chest.  
“You in there?” calls Stuart. “You ain’t done a runner, have ya?”  
“I - I’m here,” croaks Callum. He clears his throat. “Give me a minute.” 

Five hours later, Callum worries at the gold band on his ring finger. It feels strange, restrictive and a bit too small. Beside him, Whitney is in full flight, telling the wedding party how she was nearly late for the registry office because she laddered two pairs of tights through nerves. She’s flushed and happy, giggling as she tells her story. She looks beautiful. Callum has no idea why she’s settled for him.  
Most of the people around the table are from Whitney’s side of the family. Some of them Callum’s never even met before. They’re all loud and bladdered. For Callum, there’s only Stuart and Rainie. Jonno had done as he was told and stayed away, for which Callum is grateful. It’s difficult to imagine, but this day could have turned out even worse if he’d muscled his way in.  
Stuart taps a spoon against his glass and clears his throat. He’s revelling in his role as master of ceremonies. “Ahem, pray silence, everyone.” He smiles widely at Callum and Whitney. “I’m gonna read out the telegrams.”  
“Telegrams?” whispers Callum to Whit. “They still have telegrams, do they?”  
She slaps his shoulder gently, as if he’s making a hilarious joke. He isn’t. He’s just clueless about wedding etiquette. “Nah, course not. He means messages. They’re more likely to come by email these days, ain’t they?”  
Stuart begins ploughing his way through a pile of cards, sent by distant aunties and uncles on Whit’s side that Callum’s never heard of and will probably never meet.  
“…and last but not least,” says Stuart eventually. “This one says, “Congratulations to the happy couple, with best wishes for a perfect day.” Stuart smiles beatifically around the table, as if he’s written the card himself. “And a message to the groom. Callum - if you ever fancy a night out with the lads, my number’s below. All the best mate, Martin.”  
Callum frowns. “Martin? Who’s Martin?”  
Stuart looks at him as if he’s lost his marbles. “Martin Fowler, bruv. Him and Tubbs was gutted they didn’t get to give you a proper send-off.”  
Whitney coos beside him as Callum colours, remembering his last meaningful conversation with them both.  
“You’ll havta hold onto his number,” says Stuart. “Give him a call when the madness all gets too much.”  
“Oi!” admonishes Whitney.  
Callum smiles weakly.  
“Right, ladies and gents,” says Stuart. “Please raise your glasses and join me in a toast to the happy couple.”  
“The happy couple!”  
Whitney reaches over and kisses him, to cheers from everyone else around the table.  
He sits back and worries the band around his finger. It’s done. He’s a married man. Whatever came before is only a memory that will fade with time, that one solitary artefact tucked away in his wallet notwithstanding. 

Fifty one weeks later  
Whitney stills his hand where he’s drumming his fingers on the kitchen counter. “Will you chill, babe? It’s only Stuart and Rainie. Let’s face it, it ain’t gonna be a sophisticated night, is it?”  
“Not just Stuart and Rainie,” Callum reminds her. “I ain’t seen Martin Fowler in over a year, and I ain’t never even met his missus.”  
“Well, neither have I, but I’m pretty sure she ain’t gonna be puttin’ on any airs and graces.” Whitney reaches up on tip-toe and squeezes his shoulders. “And if she does, we’ll soon bring her down a peg or two.”  
Callum tries to relax. He throws her a smile. “Well, we are a force to be reckoned with, ain’t we Whit?”  
“You better believe it,” says Whitney, stirring the sauce for the fish course she’d decided on when they planned the menu two days ago. “You and me against the world, babe.” She sets the saucepan aside for later, and takes him gently by the arms. “You taken your tablet today? Cos you seem a bit nervy.”  
“Yeah, yeah, I just want the night to go well.”  
She looks carefully at him. “And I repeat, it’s only your brother and his bird, and some other bloke you used to work with. I thought you was excited to meet up with ‘im again?”  
“Yeah, yeah, I am.” He shrugs, unable to tell her what he’s really feeling. That now Martin Fowler’s visit is a reality, the knowledge they both share about what Callum was going through when they worked together is causing him palpitations. What if Martin lets something slip? What if he’s going to be judging Callum for being a hypocrite, knowing what he knows about him and Ben? “I am,” he repeats. “Just…”  
“I know babe,” says Whitney soothingly. ”But you ain’t had any panic attacks for at least a month now, have ya?”  
“Nah.”  
“Well then, there ya go. Maybe you’ll be able to come off them tablets altogether soon.” She gives him a sly wink. “And maybe you’ll be more interested in a bit of hows-yer-father again once the side effects wear off.”  
He smiles weakly, and tries to joke his way away from the topic. “Does anyone call it hows-yer-father anymore apart from dirty old men in seventies comedies?”  
“Yeah, I do,” says Whitney, stretching up to plant a kiss on his chin, which is the only part of his face she can reach. “I love you, ya big softy, even if there is a distinct lack of hows-yer-father right now.”  
“Even though I’m broken, ya mean?” asks Callum, only half-joking.  
“You ain’t broken,” says Whitney. “Ya just need a bit of an oil change.”  
They smile at each other. “That don’t even make sense,” points out Callum.  
They’re interrupted by the doorbell ringing and Callum heads off to answer it, leaving Whitney to make last minute adjustments to the table settings in the living room and check the dessert in the fridge .  
“Blimey it’s cold out there,” says Martin Fowler in greeting when Callum opens the door. He shoves a bottle of red wine towards him and then gives him a matey hug, slapping him on the back.  
“Y’alright Martin? asks Callum, genuinely pleased to see him. “Come on in, get yerselves warm.”  
“Cal, this is Stace, me other half,” says Martin.  
A dark-haired woman steps out from behind him and fixes Callum with a warm smile. “Alright Callum? I used ta hear loads about ya when the two of you was workin’ together.”  
Callum darts a nervous look at Martin, but he’s busy taking off his coat and peering round the living room . “Cal’s gone onto bigger and better things,” he says. “Too good for the likes of us manual workers now.” He grins round at Callum to let him know he’s joking. “Gone into the medical profession now ain’t ya Cal?”  
Callum laughs. “Hardly. I’m not exactly a consultant yet. Hiya Stace, nice to meet ya.”  
“Yer just workin’ yer way up the ladder then, are ya?” asks Martin.  
“Yeah, hospital porter, paramedic, consultant. That was the career path I was considerin’,” says Callum, feeling more relaxed now that they’re actually here and he remembers what good company Martin used to be. Stacey seems lovely too, and all of a sudden he’s got high hopes for a good evening.  
Whitney comes through from the kitchen and they make introductions as the doorbell sounds again. Callum goes to let Stuart and Rainie in.  
“Blimey, this trip over from Walford don’t get any shorter, does it?” says Rainie in greeting, shrugging off her coat and bundling it into Callum’s arms. “West Ham. ‘S like a different country, ain’t it?”  
Stuart grins as he steps through the door. “We did bring our passports, just in case they won’t let us back home bruv. How ya doin’? You alright?”  
“Yeah, yeah, fine.”

Three hours later, Whitney and Stacey are getting along famously, and Callum’s had two glasses of wine that he probably shouldn’t have had, given the medication he’s on. All the food has been eaten and everyone’s nicely mellow. It’s been a good evening.  
“So, Whit,” says Rainie. “You and dopey-chops over here’ve bin together nearly a year now, ain’t ya?”  
“Yeah,” says Whitney, smiling happily. “One year next week, in fact.”  
“Any plans?” asks Rainie.  
Callum and Whitney both frown at her.  
“Pitter patter, pitter patter,” says Rainie, giving them both a significant look.  
“Rain?” says Callum.  
“Kids,” says Stuart. “When you gonna make me an uncle?”  
Whitney and Callum exchange glances. “I’m a busy career woman,” says Whitney. “We’re gonna have to plan a family when we’re both a bit further on in our jobs, I reckon, eh Cal?”  
“Yeah,” says Callum, staring down into his wine.  
“So, Tubbs wants an invite next time we all get together,” says Martin, performing a spectacularly unsubtle change of conversational direction.  
“Oh yeah? Which of his girlfriends is he gonna bring?” asks Callum, glad of the save.  
Martin pretends to consider for a second or two. “Probably all four of ‘em, you’ll have to peel a few more spuds next time, Whit.”  
“Have to get a bigger table, an’ all,” adds Stuart. “I wonder if they all know about each other?”  
“I heard about him from Stuart,” says Rainie. “He’s still playin’ the field, then?”  
“Yeah, course. Don’t think he’ll ever change,” says Martin.  
Callum’s heart goes cold at Rainie’s words. What else has Stuart been telling Rainie? Does she know about him and Ben? He fiddles with the stem of his wine glass and tries to focus on the tablecloth. He can feel his pulse picking up.  
“I meant to tell ya,” says Martin. “I got a text off Ben the other week.”  
Stuart sniffs. “Just as well he didn’t want an invite.”  
Callum’s heart begins racing and his palms prickle with sweat.  
“I never realised he was back at the car lot,” says Martin.  
“Thought he’d run it into the ground,” says Stuart.  
“Seems not,” says Martin. “Seems he just had a fallin’ out with his dad.” He looks sideways at Callum, trying to sound casual. “You ever hear from ‘im, Cal?”  
“Nah.” Callum’s mouth is dry and he feels like he’s chewing on cotton wool. “Never took ‘is number.” He dips his head and stares at the embroidered flowers on the table cloth.  
“I always thought you’d keep in touch,” says Whitney. “Thought you was good mates at one point.”  
Callum can’t make eye contact with anyone. He’s not sure he can move either, although he knows he needs to get out of there away from this conversation.  
“You alright, Cal?” asks Rainie, peering at him closely. “You’ve gone a bit pale.”  
Everyone is staring at him. Whitney’s looking concerned. Martin’s looking like he could kick himself. Suddenly, Stacey stands up. “Well, I’m goin’ to do the washin’ up, and I bet you did all the cookin’ didn’tcha, Whit? So that means Callum can come and help wash up. C’mon, mate.”  
She takes Callum by the elbow and steers him through to the kitchen, to a chorus of groans from the others. “You don’t havta do that,” says Whitney. “Me ‘n’ Cal’ll do it in the mornin’.”  
“Now you’ve made us look really bad,” adds Rainie. “We never thought to offer.”  
“You never do,” says Stuart.  
“I never do..?”  
Stacey closes the kitchen door on their bickering and crosses to the sink to start filling up the washing up bowl. “You can dry,” she says, thrusting a tea towel at Callum and busying herself with sorting out the dirty pots and pans that have been piled up on the cooker.  
Callum concentrates on taking deep breaths. He braces himself with both hands on the counter until he’s feeling a bit less light-headed.  
After a few minutes, when she’s started washing plates and piling them up on the draining board, Stacey says, “You feelin’ better now?” She turns to face him, her arms dripping soap suds on the floor. “I could kill Martin. He’s such an insensitive oaf sometimes.”  
Callum’s eyes widen. “You know?”  
“Yeah.” She smiles sadly at him. “I ain’t judgin’, Callum. On either count. I mean, I can’t comment on the Ben thing, it’s none of me business, but I’ve had mental health problems meself. I can see the signs.”  
He huffs out a nervous laugh. “It ain’t mental health problems.”  
“You was havin’ a panic attack, weren’t ya?”  
“Well, yeah, but I ain’t mad.” It registers with Callum, what she’d said about herself. “Sorry! I didn’t mean - ”  
“S’alright.” She turns back to carry on with the washing up. “To be honest I was a lot more mad than you looked back there.” She smiles and nudges at him to start drying plates, and he picks up a bundle of cutlery. “Post-partum depression. It started with panic attacks with me, too, but it’s a slippery slope, ain’t it? If you don’t look after yerself.”  
“I love Whit,” he says suddenly, despairingly. It’s true, he does. He hopes things are going to work out between them. He just needs to get off this horrible medication and then they can start married life properly.  
“I know ya do,” says Stacey. “I can see it shinin’ out of the pair of ya.” She crosses to the cooker to pick up a couple of saucepans. “It don’t mean yer s’posed to be together though, does it?” She glances carefully at him. “Martin told me ya fell pretty hard for this Ben.”  
“You ever met ‘im?” asks Callum.  
“Me? No. What’s he like?”  
Callum tips his head to one side, considering. “Like no one I ever met before. Full o’ contradictions. He likes blokes but he’s got a daughter. He comes across like this tough guy, but he’s really a big softy underneath it all. He ain’t never had a steady boyfriend, although he deserves to have one. He’s kind and vulnerable, and he’s had a pretty shitty life but he don’t take it out on anyone. Well, he never took it out on me, anyway.” He takes a breath, thinking what else he can say, and then realises that she’s looking at him with a kindly smile on her face. “What?”  
“Seems like you needed to get all that out yer system,” she says. “You ever had anyone to talk to about this stuff?”  
She must see something in his expression, because she dries her hands on the tea towel he’s still grasping, and then gives him a big hug. “You’ll be OK, Callum. You’ll work it out.”  
Before he can answer, the door opens and Martin comes into the room. He closes it carefully behind himself and says, “Mate, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think.”  
“’S alright, I’ve told ‘im yer an oaf,” says Stacey, stepping back from Callum. Her words are accusing, but her tone is fond.  
“If it’s any comfort, nobody noticed anythin’” says Martin. “They all thought you’d just had a bit too much to drink.”  
“’S alright,” says Callum. “I just bin strugglin’ a bit lately.” He forces a laugh. “Bit overwhelmed by the whole…” he waves his hands around, “married life thing.”  
“Yeah. Well, let’s face it, it ain’t natural, is it?” asks Martin, with a smile on his face.  
“Oi, you!” says Stacey, slapping his shoulder in mock offence.  
“It ain’t!” says Martin. “They never used to do it in olden days, not til the church come along and decided everyone had to live how they told ‘em to.”  
“Oh yeah? What did they do in ‘olden days’ then?” asks Stacey.  
Martin shrugs. “Dunno. Just slept with whoever took their fancy, I should think.”  
“Actually, now you come to mention it,” says Stacey. “That don’t sound like a bad idea.”  
They grin at each other, and Callum warms to them even more than he had already that evening.

When everyone’s left at the end of the evening and Callum’s folding up the tablecloth ready to store it back in the cupboard, Whitney takes it from his hands and fixes him with a concerned look.  
“You alright, babe?”  
He gives her what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “Yeah, course.”  
“Was that the beginnin’s of a panic attack back there?”  
His smile fades. He nods forlornly.  
“Thought so. What started it?”  
She’s watching him carefully. He shrugs. “I dunno. I had a couple of drinks, that might not’ve helped.”  
“Just the wine,” she asks. “Not anythin’ anyone said?”  
He can’t meet her gaze. “No, course not. Like what?”  
“I dunno.” He glances quickly at her and then away again. She’s still staring at him with a mixture of concern and trepidation. “You would tell me if there was anythin’ botherin’ ya, wouldn’t ya?”  
“Yeah, course.” He raises his eyes to hers with an effort. “You know I would, Whit.”

SIXTEEN  
When Callum wakes the next morning, Whitney’s already out of bed and in the shower. Normally, she’d wait for him to wake up and they’d have a cuddle, even if he can’t manage much of anything else these days. She’d been quiet last night as they were getting ready for bed. He’s not sure what’s bothering her.  
He lies on his back and goes over the conversation he’d had with Stacey last night. He feels vaguely embarrassed, like he gave too much away, but at the same time he’s surprised that he was able to reel off all that stuff about Ben so spontaneously. He’s spent so long reminding himself of Ben’s manipulative qualities over the course of the last year that he’s lost sight of the other qualities he’d seen in him.  
He stretches over to the bedside cabinet where he’s left his wallet, and eases out the note he’s kept in the billfold. It’s softened on the edges from where it’s been folded, and the ink is fading, the whole thing almost falling apart from where he’s taken it out over the year when he was having particularly bad days. He knows it off by heart, but still he studies the words, tracing the loops and curves of Ben’s handwriting with his eyes.  
Just don’t re-write our story – promise?  
Is that what Callum’s done? If he has, it’s only because he’s had to. If he imagines for a second that Ben was anything other than predatory and manipulative then he’d have to admit to himself that he’s maybe lost the love of his life. He stirs and folds the note back up, sliding it gently back into his wallet and mentally berating himself. Of course Ben wasn’t the love of his life! That’s just ridiculous. Imagine if he told anyone that? Another man? The love of his life? They’d kill themselves laughing at him.  
He thinks back to that night in the hotel, when they’d just agreed that the ‘thing’ between them was going to go further. They’d been waiting all night for everyone else to turn in, and the anticipation as they rode up in the lift to their room together had been overwhelming. Callum remembers Ben taking charge, being flirty and commanding in the same breath, but always going at a pace that suited Callum. Being patient with him. Undressing himself for Callum.  
Callum remembers the line he’d crossed that night, little realising how hard it would be to cross back over.  
As he lies there, eyes closed and images from that night crystal clear in his brain, Callum can feel a stirring that he’s not experienced in a while. He’s half hard. He shoves his hand inside his boxers and strokes himself gently. He can’t do anything right now, Whit’s going to be coming back into the room at any moment, but it feels nice to have some sensation down there again, after so long.  
He hears the bathroom door open and Whit’s footsteps coming towards the bedroom. When she enters the room she crosses to sit on the end of the bed and combs through her wet hair, darting a glance over at him. “Mornin’.”  
“Mornin’,” he answers. “You’re up early.”  
She doesn’t reply.  
“Thought I was gonna get me mornin’ cuddle off ya.”  
She busies herself retrieving the hairdryer from where she’d left it under the bed and plugs it in, then sits back down on the end of the bed. “Ain’t got time.”  
“Why, you ain’t late, are ya?” Callum wriggles down the bed and puts his arms around her waist.  
She shrugs him off. “Cal, please, I wanna dry me hair.”  
He lies back and watches her with worried eyes. “I done sommat wrong, Whit?”  
“No, course not. I just wanna make an early start.” She switches on the hairdryer to prevent further conversation.  
Over breakfast he fills the silence by chatting about the previous evening. She answers him with grunts and one-word sentences. It’s like getting blood out of a stone. It’s not like her to sulk. Normally he’ll know what’s bothering her as soon as it happens; she wears her emotions so obviously on her sleeve.  
In a last conversational gambit, he says, “Anniversary soon. What d’ya wanna do for it?”  
She gives him a level stare. “Dunno. Let’s not go overboard, eh? Maybe just get a Chinese and watch a film.”  
“You sure? I thought you’d wanna go to a fancy restaurant or sommat.”  
She crosses to put her bowl in the sink and then grabs her phone from the table. “Let’s just keep it low-key, yeah?” She plants the briefest of kisses on his forehead and then carries on gathering her things together to leave for work. Callum can’t escape the feeling that he’s done something wrong, but for the life of him, he can’t work out what.  
He ponders it some more on his bus trip into work, but once there, he’s got no time to think of anything apart from ferrying patient after patient to their destinations. Saturdays seem to take on a different flavour to weekdays. Whereas Friday nights are drunk nights, Saturday is the day when the whole world and his wife seems to go out playing sport, so most of the A&E admissions they see are broken legs, bruised ankles, concussions and the like. There always seem to be a lot of rugby blokes, too, visiting in packs in solidarity with their injured team-mates, their general levels of rowdiness making it seem like they take up even more space in the waiting areas than they actually do physically. Callum finds that much testosterone in one place intimidating, even though it was pretty similar in the army, and tries to steer clear as much as he can.  
By the time he returns home that evening, Whit’s mood seems to have lifted again. She snuggles into his side as they sit watching some daft game show on the telly, and he plants a kiss in her hair. “You alright now?” he asks. “You was a bit quiet this mornin’. You worried about somethin’?”  
“Yeah, I’m alright. I ain’t got anythin’ to worry about, have I?” She raises her head to look him in the eyes.  
“Not as far as I can tell,” says Callum.

They seem to be back on an even keel, whatever was bothering Whit having been forgotten. Maybe there wasn’t anything, Callum thinks. Maybe she’d just been tired after playing host to Stuart, Rainie and the Fowlers. To be honest, she had done pretty much all the work: planning the menu, buying and cooking the food, sorting out the table settings, cleaning most of the flat beforehand.  
In the week running up to their anniversary, though, Callum catches her looking at him sometimes with a pensive look on her face. She always smiles when she sees that he’s caught her out, so he thinks perhaps he’s imagined it, but it does seem as though she’s a bit quieter than normal.  
As they’d agreed, they have a low-key celebration on the day itself, stuffing themselves with pork chow mein and chicken balls. Callum is in a reflective mood.  
“I’m sorry,” he says eventually, after rehearsing what he wants to say a few times in his head.  
“What for?” asks Whitney, running her finger around her plate to pick up the last of the sweet and sour sauce.  
“Well, it ain’t exactly bin a great first year of marriage for ya, has it?” says Callum. “Feels like you’ve taken on a bleedin’ invalid, not a husband.”  
She licks her finger as she considers her reply. “Well ‘s OK, ain’t it? I took ya in sickness and health. The sickness just came a bit sooner than we expected, didn’t it? It’ll pass.”  
Callum hopes she’s right. “Yeah, but I should be lookin’ after you, shouldn’t I? That’s what husbands are supposed to do. Look after their women.”  
“Is that right? Look after their women, eh?” Whitney has a fond smile on her face. “We ain’t back in Victorian times, Cal. I’m perfectly capable of lookin’ after meself.” She reaches across the table and toys with his fingers. “And while yer not a hundred per cent, I’ll look after you, alright?”  
“Yeh, but it can’t be much fun for ya, can it?”  
“It’s had its moments.” She smiles bravely at him. “It’ll get better.”  
“We should try for a baby,” says Callum, wanting to make things right with her. He sees her expression shut down at his words. He’s not entirely sure he knows where the words came from.  
“Cal - ”  
“Why not? Rainie was right, it’s what we should be doin’ after a year of marriage. Most other couples have got one on the way by now.”  
“Yeah. But - ”  
“Why not?” The more he talks about it, the more Callum convinces himself it’s a good idea.  
Whitney is looking less keen. In fact, she’s looking vaguely alarmed, and the expression on her face starts to annoy him.  
“Is it cos of me panic attacks?” he asks.  
“We don’t have to do somethin’ cos we think it’s what everyone else expects of us,” says Whitney in a soothing voice.  
“So you don’t wanna, nah?” asks Callum. He knows he sounds petulant.  
“It ain’t that I don’t wanna. I just…” Whitney sighs. “OK, it is cos of yer panic attacks, but not in the way you think.”  
Callum frowns. “What does that mean?”  
Whitney sits forward and clasps her hands on the table in front of her. She stares down at them, avoiding his gaze. “Cal, you started havin’ panic attacks about the time we got married, didn’tcha? D’you think maybe…” She trails off, clearly unwilling to have this conversation.  
“Do I think maybe what?” insists Callum, equally unwilling but unable to stop himself from pursuing it.  
“Is there…” Whitney sighs. “Was there a reason you didn’t wanna get married? Did I push you into it? Cos I don’t want ya to feel trapped.”  
He huffs a laugh. “Trapped? Don’t be daft, Whit. I ain’t ‘trapped’. I love ya.”  
She smiles weakly. “I know ya do, but some people just ain’t the marryin’ type, are they?”  
His blood runs cold. They’re getting close to dangerous territory and he can feel his heart-rate picking up again. He takes a deep breath. “What you sayin’?”  
She could say it. She could prise open this can of worms that would end their marriage for good. This could be the moment at which he gets cast out of normal, regular society forever. He holds his breath.  
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Callum takes another breath, his blood pounding in his ears. Whitney smiles and shakes her head.  
“I ain’t sayin’ nothin’. I just…I hope it ain’t me that’s makin’ ya ill, Cal.”  
He breathes again, so relieved he’s effusive in his attempts to reassure her. “Don’t be daft, Whit. You make me a better man, I couldn’t be without ya. C’mere.” He beckons for her and she comes round the table to perch on his lap. “I love ya, with all me heart. And these bleedin’ panic attacks, well they’re nothin’ to do with you, OK? In fact, I’ve bin feelin’ a bit better lately.” He holds her tight around her waist and kisses her. “In fact,” he says when they come up for air. “I felt a bit of a stirrin’ down below the other day.”  
“Yeah?” she looks surprised.  
“Yeah, reckon I might be on the mend.”  
“Well good,” she says. “Cos I don’t wanna argue with ya on our anniversary. I’d much rather see if we can’t make somethin’ happen down there.”

He’s going to have to sort himself out. He knows he is. In the event, they hadn’t managed to get him going enough for anything to happen between him and Whitney, but he knows she wants kids someday. He needs to step up and be the man she needs him to be. As his days pass at work the following week, he looks around at the families that pass through the A&E department, and wonders if he could have something similar one day. Maybe if he had a kid it would take his mind off his own problems. That’s what they say, isn’t it? You don’t have any time to be self-absorbed when you’ve got another little human being to look out for.  
They might be a lot of work, but they bring their own rewards, too. Callum imagines the type of kid he and Whitney would have. If Whit’s genes are anywhere near it, it would be sharp as a knife and confident with it, like the little girl he’s currently wheeling from A&E to the X-ray department with a suspected fractured wrist. She’s talking nineteen to the dozen with her mum, and urging Callum to push her faster.  
He laughs at her, and shares a grin with her mum, who’s rolling her eyes at her daughter’s antics. “I can’t push you any faster sweetheart, we’ll run someone over.”  
“Not in this bit,” says the little girl. “This bit’s empty. Push me fast to those seats down there.”  
“Baby, leave the man alone,” says her mum. “He’s doin’ a very good job of keepin’ ya safe.”  
“But it would take my mind off my poorly arm,” says the girl in a wheedling tone.  
Callum can’t resist, and it’s true that the corridor ahead of them is empty. “OK then, hold onto yer hat,” he says.  
“I ain’t got a hat, silly,” says the girl.  
“Ah-ah, don’t be rude, madam,” says her mum, throwing an apologetic look at Callum.  
He smiles at her and pulls the wheelchair back towards himself. “We’ve gotta get a bit of a run-up for this,” he says, and the little girl giggles. “Ready? One, two…”  
“Three!” yells the girl and he careers off down the corridor as fast as he can, the little girl shrieking and laughing.  
They come to a halt by the row of chairs halfway down the corridor just as the lift further along pings and the door opens. A man steps out. Callum tries to catch his breath.  
It’s Ben.  
He seems to freeze as he catches sight of Callum, and looks uncertain for a second or two. Then he gathers himself and turns to the little girl.  
“Baby! They said you was goin’ to have yer arm x-rayed.” He bends down to kiss her on the top of her head. “You bin in yet?”  
“No, we’ve only just got here,” says the girl’s mother. “You put more parkin’ on the car?”  
“Yeah, yeah, we’re sorted for another two hours,” says Ben, unable to take his eyes off Callum now that he’s greeted his daughter.  
“Uh, hi,” says Callum, to prevent the silence from dragging on uncomfortably.  
“Hi,” says Ben, adopting his hardman look.  
The woman looks from one to the other of them. “You two know each other?”  
At the sound of her voice, Ben glances almost guiltily at her and then back at Callum. “Uh, yeah. This is Callum.”  
The woman glances quickly between them. She obviously knows who Callum is.  
“Callum’s been pushin’ me fast!” says the little girl. Callum remembers that her name’s Lexi.  
“Has he?” asks Ben, still staring at Callum. “I hope he’s bin keepin’ ya safe.”  
“Yep, he’s looked after me,” says Lexi, as if she’s pronouncing the verdict on Callum’s abilities.  
“Listen, Lex,” says her mum. “Let’s you and me find the x-ray department, and we’ll leave daddy to have a chat with this nice man.”  
Callum sees Ben throw a glare in her direction. “Go through those doors at the end of the corridor and turn left,” he says. “Then it’s right in front of ya.”  
“OK, thanks Callum.” The woman takes her leave of them, digging her elbow into Ben’s side as she passes him with the wheelchair.  
Lexi twists in the chair and waves at him with her good arm. “Bye Callum!”  
He waves back. “Bye sweetheart. Get better soon.”  
Alone, Ben and Callum stare at each other until Lexi and her mum have disappeared through the doors at the end of the corridor. Ben looks disinclined to speak.  
“She’s uh…she’s a little sweetheart,” says Callum.  
Ben’s face softens a little at that. “Yeah, she is.”  
Callum wants to tell him that he’s missed him. That he thinks maybe he was the love of his life, even though he knows that sounds ridiculous. He wants to throw his arms around him and bury his face in his neck to drink in that scent that is uniquely Ben. He settles instead for, “How ya bin?”  
Ben nods his head slowly. “Yeah, OK.” He tips his chin to indicate the name badge on Callum’s chest. “I never realised you’d left the kitchen fittin’ business.”  
“Yeah, yeah. Just over a year ago, now.”  
Callum’s smile fades as he realises Ben doesn’t really want to be here talking to him. The younger man has folded his arms and is staring at the floor now, taking a small step backwards. If Callum can’t think of something to say that will hold his attention, he’ll be making polite excuses and backing away up the corridor.  
“I, uh… could I take yer number?” he blurts out. “Could we stay in touch, maybe?”  
Ben fixes him again with that hardman stare. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you Cal?” he reaches out and takes Callum’s left hand, leaving Callum breathless, but then he just rubs his thumb over the gold band on Callum’s ring finger. “Yer still married, ain’t ya? You can’t possibly want anythin’ from me.”  
With that, he wheels around and strides away up the corridor without looking back, leaving Callum bereft all over again.

Callum is an idiot. He’s been getting so carried away with thoughts of what might be between him and Whitney. Kids, a long and happy marriage. Just one sight of Ben, and it’s all come crashing down again.  
He can admit now that he misses him, with an ache so acute it makes him breathless, and an intensity no less than when he first walked into that hotel room and realised that Ben had left.  
He wanders around in a daze for the rest of his shift. He’s normally the cheeky chappy, the porter with a bright smile and a reassuring word for everyone he comes into contact with, but he just can’t summon the energy for the rest of the afternoon. He finds himself clock watching, and breathes a sigh of relief when the end of his shift comes around. He doesn’t want to go home, but he doesn’t want to be around people either.  
He tries to slip unnoticed into the locker room to pick up his belongings before he goes to catch the bus home, but Daphne spots him as he’s hurrying past the admission desk.  
“Not so fast, Callum Highway!” she shouts at top volume. He curses to himself, and returns to the desk.  
“I’m goin’ home Daph,” he says. “It’s me knockin’-off time.”  
“I know it is, sweetheart,” she rasps. “Somebody gave me somethin’ for ya.”  
She turns to rummage through the pigeonholes at the back of the desk, and Callum curses to himself again. The porters very often receive little gifts from patients, usually chocolates bought from the hospital shop, and while it’s a lovely thought, it only means they have the added faff of filling in forms in triplicate to declare that they’ve received them.  
Daphne turns back round, not with a box of chocolates, but with a piece of lined notepaper that looks as if it’s been torn from the pages of a kid’s stationery pad. In the corner is a pastel picture of a unicorn.  
Callum frowns as he takes it from her. She’s smiling at him. “Got any secrets you wanna share, Cal?”  
“Not that I know of.” His name is written on the outside of the paper, and his heart flips a beat as he looks at it. He’d recognise that handwriting anywhere. He’s stared at it often enough.  
He unfolds the paper and inside is a mobile phone number and just the letter ‘B’.

SEVENTEEN  
As Callum makes his way to the bus stop he finds he’s humming Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered to himself. He doesn’t even mind that the queue at the bus stop stretches all across the pavement and it looks like he’s going to have to wait for a later bus. When he’s finally elbowed his way to a seat on the top deck of the second bus that arrives, he copies Ben’s number into his phone and then holds the piece of paper tight between his fingers, like it’s his most treasured possession. His brain is running on overload, analysing his encounter with Ben. He’d looked uncertain when he first saw Callum, not at all the brash, confident man Callum had last seen at the car lot. That must mean something, mustn’t it? That must mean he still has feelings for him? Added to that, the fact that he’d left his number, although that might have been as a result of the woman, Lexi’s mum, persuading him to. She’d seemed to have quite the influence on him when they were all standing awkwardly in the corridor. Maybe Ben had had to be dragged, kicking and screaming, to the admissions desk to hand it over.  
And as the bus nears Walford and the initial excitement’s wearing off, Callum has to admit that nothing’s changed. He’s still a married man. He’s still got a duty to Whitney. He feels a bit of an idiot for having been so forward, asking for Ben’s number when nothing can come of it. He’d probably embarrassed the poor bloke.  
When he gets home, dejected once more, Whit is whirling around the flat getting ready to go out.  
“What’s goin’ on?” he asks, grabbing her around the waist as she comes within reach and giving her a quick peck on the lips.  
“A few of us from the market are goin’ out,” she says. “Spur of the moment thing.”  
His heart sinks. ”Whit, I don’t really feel like - ”  
“No, no, it’s OK. We’re not bringin’ partners. You can chill on yer own. Watch some telly, do whatever it is ya do when I ain’t here.”  
He colours slightly, remembering the porn, but it doesn’t seem like she’s trying to make a point. She’s clearly still unaware of his evening pastime.  
“Gotta go,” she says. “Don’t wait up.”  
The door slams behind her and he’s left alone in the silence.  
He wanders around the flat, unaccustomed to having time on his own. It doesn’t look like Whit’s left him any food. He opens the fridge and peers into it hopefully, but there’s only some runner beans, some cheese and some leftover lasagne that’s been there for at least three days. He thinks maybe he’ll pop out for Chinese, but first he sits at the kitchen table and attempts to compose a text to Ben. He thinks carefully about it. It needs to sound friendly without sounding needy; blokey rather than flirty. He does not want Ben to get the wrong idea.  
He starts to type a couple of times and then grimaces and deletes the words. Eventually, he settles on Thanks for leaving your number after all. Hope Lexi is OK. Callum.  
He spends far too long trying to decide if he should put a kiss at the end, and then loses patience with himself and sends it without.  
He sits at the table for a while staring at his phone in case Ben replies immediately, but after five minutes he starts to realise he’s being an idiot, so he pulls his jacket back on, checks for his keys and wallet, and sets off for the Chinese. While he waits for his order he repeatedly pulls his phone out of his pocket and check for a reply, but there’s nothing. Ben must be busy. Or regretting giving him his number.  
It’s not until he’s back home and dishing up his food that his phone beeps with an incoming message. He leaps across the kitchen to where he’d left it on the table, and snatches it up.  
Well, it’s a bad sprain not a fracture, but she’s milking it for all it’s worth 😊  
Callum is disappointed. He’s pleased to hear Lexi’s OK, but Ben’s not given him a lot to go on with his message. He tries to think of a reply that will get him to open up a bit more. He doesn’t want to seem too keen, so he sets himself a target of eating ten mouthfuls of food before he sends another text. Then, still chewing, he replies Glad she’s going to be OK. Got the flat to myself tonight as Whit’s out. Eating Chinese and vegging out in front of the telly.  
He sends it and then immediately regrets it. What if Ben though that was a not-so-subtle invitation? Panicked, he sends another text. Gonna have an early night.  
He curses. Why the hell did he send THAT? Ben might interpret it as an even less subtle invitation. He sends a supplementary text. Knackered!  
As he presses ‘send’ he realises he hasn’t yet had a reply to any of them, even though Ben must be close to his phone to have sent the first one. He cringes and closes his eyes, and then his phone announces an incoming message.  
It’s just the thumbs-up emoji. Nothing else. If Callum felt stupid before, now he feels mortified. He throws his phone down in disgust and takes his food into the living room to eat it in front of the telly. There’s some crime drama on, and he watches closely, certain that he’s seen it before. The plot seems familiar. A dark-haired detective stands at a graveside, and he suddenly remembers it was playing in the hotel room when he and Ben first… when Ben did that ‘thing’ that set in train a whole sequence of events - affair, secrets, fights - culminating in separation, wedding and anti-anxiety medication. What a mess.  
The drama plays on in the background but his thoughts are taken up again with that night. He knows it’s wrong, but he’d give anything to feel Ben’s mouth on him again. He feels an old familiar, if tentative, stirring, and closes his eyes and slides his hand into his trousers.  
Thanks to the medication it takes a long time, and when it comes it’s only very minor, but he’s rewarded with the first orgasm he’s had in months.  
He slouches on the sofa in a state of soporific satisfaction and watches the end of the crime drama, then sets about clearing up and getting ready for bed. As he takes his plate into the kitchen and runs it under the tap, he realises that the alert light on his phone is flashing. He’s got another message. He picks it up from where he’d discarded it on the table, and tries to still his racing heart. There are three texts, one a picture text.  
His shoulders drop. They’re all from Whit.  
The picture is a selfie of Whit surrounded by three other women and a couple of men, none of whom Callum recognises. He realises all of a sudden that he knows next to nothing of Whit’s life away from him. They’re all huddled in close with wide grins and the look of people who’ve sunk a considerable amount of alcohol in a very short space of time. Next to Whit is a blond man with his arms tight around her, looking very proprietorial. Immediately, Callum’s hackles are raised. The caption from Whit is Love you x  
The second text says, WIsh u’d come. You shd come Cal. x  
He opens the third. Don’t live half a life hffway. He casts his phone aside with a sigh.  
He showers and then has an early night. It’s nearly two o’clock in the morning when he’s woken abruptly by Whit returning from her night out and switching on the bedroom light. She stumbles over her feet as she approaches the bed and then flops down beside him, lying on top of the duvet. She’s merry and affectionate, but he shrugs her off and pulls the covers over his head. “Gerroff!”  
“C’mon Cal, give me some lovin’,” she slurs. “I’m a neglected housewife. Very, very neglected.”  
It’s the first time she’s ever been anything but patient and understanding with him. He supposes the truth comes out when the alcohol goes in.  
“D’you want me to get ya some water?” he asks, rousing himself. “Yer gonna have a bangin’ head tomorrow.”  
“Water? Water! Pfft. I’m askin’ for some lovin’ from my man.” She rolls over on top of him. “An’ if you won’t give it me, there’s plenty that will.”  
He pushes her off, suddenly angry. “What? Like that bloke who was draped all over ya in the photo ya sent?”  
“Ewan?” She smiles beatifically, flopping over to lie on her back. “Lovely Ewan. He might if I asked ‘im.”  
He gets out of bed and stares down at her in disgust. “Don’t even say that, Whit! If you only knew what I’ve given up for you!”  
“What?” she giggles, trying hard to focus on him. “What you talkin’ about?”  
He scrubs his face with his hands, suddenly panicky. After a deep breath, he says, “Nothin’. Ignore me. I’m gonna go and get ya some water.”  
He takes a few moments to compose himself while he fills a glass with water from the kitchen tap. When he goes back into the bedroom, Whit’s fast asleep, still lying on the top of the duvet fully clothed. He sighs, and pulls his half of the duvet over her, then digs some blankets out of the top of the wardrobe and goes to sleep on the couch in the living room.

He’s woken the next morning by the sound of the flush in the bathroom. A few seconds later the living room door opens slowly and Whitney creeps in, still in the clothes she’d been wearing last night. She moves gingerly, and the eye make-up she forgot to remove has run, accentuating the paleness of her skin.  
She lowers herself slowly to sit on the floor next to the couch and groans. “God, me head!”  
Callum clears his throat and props his head up on his hand. “You feelin’ rough?”  
“Yeah.” She looks up at him with a frown, as if she’s just realised he’s been sleeping on the couch. “Why you in here?”  
“You was a bit the worse for wear last night,” he says. “Thought I’d give ya the bed to sleep it off in.” He fiddles worriedly with the edge of his blanket. “Dontcha remember?”  
She rubs at her forehead. “I don’t remember nothin’ after about midnight. How’d I get home?”  
“No idea,” says Callum, breathing a sigh of relief. “You just appeared in the bedroom a bit before two.” He gets up from the couch. “I need to get ready for work, babe. You goin’ in today?”  
“Don’t think I can,” she says. “Me head’s bangin’ and we’re out of painkillers.”  
“Well why dontcha go back to bed, then? I’ll bring you a cuppa before I go.”  
She smiles tiredly at him. “That is a lovely idea, but I think I need to go down the corner shop and get some painkillers. I don’t suppose you could..?”  
He glances at the clock on the mantelpiece. “I can’t babe. I’ll make meself late for work. Listen, I’ll put some toast in for ya while I have me brekkie. You should eat somethin’, it’ll help.”  
“OK, but I’m gonna go out first. You got any money? I spent all mine last night. Reckon I’ve got about 3p left in me purse.”  
“On my side of the bed.” He gets up and puts his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. “Maybe get that eye make-up off before ya go out, yeah? Ya look like a panda.”  
“Oi!”  
“A very pretty panda, but definitely a panda.” He tickles her and she shies away from him.  
“Not fair! I can’t fight back. I’m ill.”  
He grins at her. “All self-inflicted. I got no sympathy.”  
She pokes her tongue out at him, and he heads for the kitchen, smiling to himself. His levels of relief that she doesn’t remember his outburst from last night are off the scale.  
He smiles even wider when he sees that he’s received an early-morning text message. It’s from Ben.  
Hope you got your beauty sleep Callum Highway (not that you need it, haha) 😊  
His good mood set for the day, he potters around filling the kettle and shoving a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster.  
“Toast’s gonna be ready soon, babe,” he calls out to Whitney. There’s no reply. “Babe?”  
He turns at a sound in the kitchen doorway.  
“I don’t understand,” says Whitney in a deadly quiet voice. Her eyes are wide and beseeching.  
In one hand she’s holding his wallet. In the other, the note from Ben. 

EIGHTEEN  
Callum holds his breath. His heart feels like ice. Whitney comes further into the room and collapses into one of the chairs, placing the wallet and note on the table in front of her. She repeatedly smooths the note beneath her fingers, and bizarrely, his first thought is that she’s going to damage it if she keeps on doing that. His fingers itch to grab it away from her.  
He lowers himself into the chair opposite her, shoving his hands under his thighs to resist the temptation. “Whit - ”  
“Is this a joke?” she asks. When he doesn’t reply, she waves the note in front of him and asks again, more angrily, “Callum, is this a joke?”  
He can’t maintain eye contact with her. He dips his head and shakes it briefly, his action causing her to take a sharp intake of breath.  
“You had an affair? With Ben Mitchell?”  
His palms are prickling with sweat, and his breath is coming in shallow gasps. He fights to control it. “Not when we was married, Whit.”  
She laughs, a harsh sound he’s never heard from her before. “Oh well, that’s alright then, ain’t it? All those times I thought you was getting’ cold feet about the weddin’, it was because of HIM, weren’t it?” She shakes her head, remembering. “That time you couldn’t talk about nothin’ else but him. On OUR anniversary! God, I’m an idiot!” She covers her mouth with her hand and tears start leaking from the corners of her eyes.  
“We weren’t…doin’ anythin’ then,” he says. “It never even crossed me mind.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shuddering sigh. “I didn’t wantcha to find out like this.”  
“No, Callum! You didn’t want me to find out, full stop! You’d still be stringin’ me along if I hadn’t found that note. I’d still be wondering why me husband didn’t wanna have sex with me.” She wipes roughly at her eyes. “Wondering what was wrong with me, when all along, I wasn’t the one with the problem. Why the hell did ya marry me, Callum, if you knew you was gay?”  
He flinches at the word. “I ain’t gay.”  
“You had sex, you had an AFFAIR with another bloke. You ain’t havin’ sex with yer wife, so in my book, that makes you pretty gay, Callum.” She pauses, shaking her head again as she stares down at the note. ‘I didn’t ‘prey’ on you, like Stuart seems to think. You know I didn’t.’ Why would he say that if you wasn’t just as gay as him?” She places the note back on the table and resumes smoothing it with her fingers, her anger and hurt making her actions rough. It begins to tear apart along one of the folds. She raises her head and stares him right in the eyes. “Did ya love im?”  
There’s a long silence. He just can’t do it. He just can’t admit his feelings to her, or to anyone. He’s stuck in his old familiar prison of denial and self-disgust.  
She shifts in her seat. She’s still staring at him. “Well?”  
“No, course not.”  
“Why ‘course not’?”  
“Cos that’s…well, it’s ridiculous. I’d be a laughin’ stock, wouldn’t I?”  
“Better than bein’ a BASTARD!”  
He’s shocked at the vehemence of her sudden outburst. “Whit- ”  
“Well? You gonna deny bein’ a bastard too? You marry me, despite the fact that it’s makin’ ya so ill that you have to take meds to even be in the same bed as me, and all the time you lie to me and make me feel worthless, make me question - ”  
“You ain’t worthless, Whit! I never thought that. I married ya cos I didn’t want ya to feel worthless. And I never lied. I always told ‘im it would end when me ‘n’ you got married. I knew I had a duty to ya.”  
She leaps up and paces up and down the room. “OK, you’d better stop talkin’ now Callum, cos you ain’t helpin’ yer case.”  
He’s confounded. “What?”  
“You strung both of us along, yeah? Used him for a bit of fun until you had to fulfil yer duty to that mill-stone round yer neck by marryin’ her, is that it?”  
“Yer makin’ me sound like a - ”  
“Like a what, Callum? What do ya think you sound like, from that description?”  
He puts his head in his hands. “That ain’t how it was. I only wanted to do right by ya. I love ya, Whit.”  
She laughs harshly. “And you thought marryin’ me was doin’ right by me?” She comes close to him and bends down so she’s in his eye-line. “Shall I tell you why ya married me, Callum? Cos I was convenient.”  
He shakes his head but she carries on. “If you married me you could carry on pretendin’ to the outside world cos you was too scared to admit what you really are. You didn’t wanna be a laughin’ stock, so you USED me, Callum.”  
“No! I tried to do right by ya. I never used ya Whit, I swear.”  
“So, you wanna be married to me, yeah?” She flings out an arm and points towards the door. “If he came through that door right now, you’d still wanna be with me, yeah?”  
He bows his head, tears forming in his eyes. “Yeah,” he whispers.  
“I don’t believe ya.”  
“Whit, it’s - ”  
“Tear it up then.”  
“What?”  
“If yer so sure you wanna be with me. If he don’t mean anythin’ to ya, tear up that note you’ve been hidin’ in yer wallet all this time, like some dirty little secret. Go on.”  
He looks up at her with pleading eyes. “Whit - ”  
“Do it!” She stares him down, her eyes cold.  
He reaches out slowly and takes the piece of paper in his hands. It’s softened from all the times he’s traced his fingers over the handwriting. Now it has a little tear along one of the folds. It’s an artefact of the one time he’s ever truly connected with someone. He can’t do it. He can’t destroy the memory of what they had.  
“I…” Gently, he folds it up again. He can’t look at her. “I’m sorry Whit. I know I messed everythin’ up. I’m so sorry.” He slides the note back into his wallet.

It’s as silent as the grave in the flat. He takes a last look around the bedroom, checking he’s got everything he’ll need, and zips up his holdall and slings it over his shoulder, then picks up his phone from the bed where he’d left it after phoning in sick to work. They’d sounded a bit disbelieving, it being a Saturday when he guesses they get most of their sickness absences, but to be honest he’d not given a stuff. He had more important things to think about.  
He peers round the door of the living room before he leaves for good. She’s sitting bolt upright on the couch, silent tears running down her face. He’s destroyed her. All the time he thought he was doing what was right for her, but he sees now that he was arrogant and unkind. And scared. It wasn’t about what was best for Whitney, it was always about what he thought was best for himself. He was trying to protect himself, and look how that turned out.  
Nevertheless, he can’t resist one last try. One last desperate clutch at the walls of his familiar prison before he’s dragged into the outside world, kicking and screaming.  
“You sure this is what you want, Whit?” he asks quietly.  
She starts at the sound of his voice, and stares round at him with empty eyes. “Do I want us to stop livin’ a lie?” she asks. “Yeah. I do. I want you gone, Callum.”  
He takes a step into the room and places his bag on the floor. “I am sorry, Whit. I thought I was doin’ what was best. I never meant to hurt ya.”  
A wry smile flashes over her face. “You did though. You will never know how much you’ve hurt me.” She holds his gaze and he flinches at the pain he sees in her eyes. “Stuart knew an’ all, didn’t he? He knew, and he did nothin’ to warn me.”  
He shakes his head sadly. “He told me to forget all about B… all about him and get married. Have a normal life.”  
She scoffs. “You think what we’ve had this last year’s bin ‘normal’, Callum? It’s bin the worst year of me life, and the only saving grace in this whole sorry mess is that I know I’ll find someone who’ll love me properly, who I can be happy with.”  
“I hope ya do, Whit.”  
She stands up, fists clenched. “Don’t you dare! Don’t ever patronise me!”  
“I weren’t -”  
“I’ll cope fine without you, Callum. I’ll cope.” She relaxes a little. “I’ll tell you the irony though, shall I? You’ve probably hurt HIM as much as you ever hurt me, so good luck tryin’ to get back with ‘im. If he’s got any sense he won’t touch ya with a bargepole.”  
He shakes his head in denial. “I don’t wanna - ”  
“Stop lyin’ to yerself, Callum! You can lie to everyone around ya, but at least stop lyin’ to yerself.” She sits back down. “Now get out.”

He rests his head against the bus window on the way back to Walford, letting it bump off the glass as they travel over potholes and bumps in the road. It hurts, but it’s no less than he deserves.  
He’s made such a mess of everything. He’s hurt her. He sees now that he’s hurt Ben, too, and that’s just as bad, because he knows how he feels about the younger man, and still he’d not given any consideration to his feelings. He’d hidden behind the fact that Ben knew what he was getting himself into when they started, but maybe that’s not enough. Maybe he should take a bit more responsibility than that. His mind plays a loop of those special moments he’d comforted himself with over the last year, hoarding them to himself when life got hard. Ben kissing him in the van; holding his hand and resting his head on his shoulder in the gallery; sitting on his lap in the hotel room. He’d give anything to have them again.  
On a sudden rush of decisiveness, he fumbles his phone from his pocket and fires off a text.  
“Sorry I hurt you. More sorry than you’ll ever know.”  
It’s only a few seconds later that he receives a reply. “Where’s this suddenly come from?”  
He’s not going to tell Ben that he and Whit have split up. He doesn’t want him to think he’s just using him. Again. He settles for something non-committal. “Been doing a lot of thinking.”  
His phone beeps again. “Don’t beat yourself up. Just be happy. You’ll always be the one that got away ☹”  
He smiles sadly at that, and types in another message. “Could do with a friend.”  
There’s a longer delay before the reply comes in. When it does, he reads it and then goes back to resting his head on the bus window. “We can be friends. I’m immune to your charms now. New start, yeah?”

Albert Square is its usual bustling self when he alights from the bus. He hoists his holdall onto his shoulder and trudges wearily across to his destination. Outside the door, he takes a few deep breaths before ringing the bell.  
There’s a delay, he begins to think no one’s in and makes plans to go and sit in the café for however long it takes, and then he hears footsteps thudding down the stairs and Stuart opens the door in his pyjamas.  
“Bruv? What you doin’ here? You do know you’ve just interrupted some major lovin’ goin’ on upstairs?”  
Callum tries to smile, but his bottom lip begins to wobble and tears form in his eyes.  
Stuart’s face creases in concern. “What’s happened?”

NINETEEN  
It’s Sunday morning. Early. He sits at the table in Stuart’s kitchen taking desultory sips from a cup of tea that went cold fifteen minutes ago. Try as he might, he couldn’t sleep last night. He’d tossed and turned in the spare bedroom, getting tangled in the sheets as his brain tangled itself around the absolute disaster he’d made of his life. He thinks he’d managed a maximum of two hours’ sleep, until the room had begun to get lighter and he’d lain there listening to the sounds of the Square waking up outside. He’s not heard a peep from Stuart’s room, he and Rainie must still be dead to the world.  
He toys with the pill he’d taken out of the box in front of him but still not swallowed down yet. Whit had been right. He had been taking them to deal with married life. Part of him wonders if he might not need them anymore, now that he and Whit are firmly not together. He knows he’ll have to wean himself off them carefully, though. Maybe he’ll go and speak to his GP when he feels ready, see how it goes.  
He’d texted Whit at about half two that morning, when he couldn’t bear not to. Just a simple, I hope you’re OK. I’m sorry x, but there’d been no reply. He hadn’t really expected one, if he’s honest with himself.  
There’s a sound elsewhere in the flat and Stuart comes padding barefoot into the kitchen in his pyjamas again. At least this time he’s had the decency to put on a dressing gown, too. He’d been most put-out yesterday when Calum had interrupted his and Rainie’s ‘special time’, until he’d realised what the problem was. Then he’d been full of brotherly advice after he’d sent a clearly disgruntled Rainie out to the shop to get more bread and milk, talking of ‘cooling off’ time and ‘trying again with Whit when everything’s calmed down’. His commitment to a lost cause was staggering. He’d also insisted they didn’t tell Rainie what the problem was, only letting her know that Callum and Whitney had argued.  
Callum glances up as Stuart crosses to switch the kettle on.  
“Alright bruv?” Stuart asks through a yawn. He leans against the counter and scratches his stomach. A frown appears on his face. “What’s this?”  
He reaches over and snatches up the box of pills before Callum can hide them away. “Sertraline,” he reads aloud. “What’s that for then, bruv?”  
When Callum stares down into his mug without answering, he flips the box over and reads the small print on the prescription label, his finger following the text as he reads. “Take one every day for anxiety or depression.” He looks up at Callum. “Anxiety or depression? How long you bin takin’ these, Cal?”  
Callum shrugs idly. “A while.”  
“You ain’t anxious or depressed,” says Stuart with a disbelieving grin on his face, as if he thinks he can jolly Callum into better mental health.  
“Who ain’t anxious or depressed?” asks Rainie as she enters the room and catches Stuart’s comment.  
“Callum’s takin’ these pills,” says Stuart, sounding bemused. “God knows why!”  
“Cos I bin gettin’ panic attacks, alright?” says Callum, resenting the fact that they both know all his business.  
“Panic attacks? For how long?” asks Stuart.  
“Since I bin married, Stuart,” says Callum, giving him a meaningful look. “Since I made the biggest mistake of me life.”  
“Cal,” says Stuart warningly, indicating Rainie with a sideways slide of his glance. She’s reaching up to the cupboard to get a couple of mugs, and her very short dressing gown rides up her thighs as she does so. Callum averts his eyes.  
Rainie snorts. “Not bitter about the argument with Whit at all then, are ya Cal?”  
“I’m serious,” says Callum.  
“Callum,” repeats Stuart. “We don’t need to go into the ins and outs of yer argument with Whit, do we?”  
“Don’t we?” says Callum. “We’re just gonna brush it under the carpet, are we?” He jabs a finger at Stuart. “YOU are just gonna tell me to carry on like nothin’s wrong, are ya?” He huffs a breath. “That’s why I ended up married in the first place, Stu. That is why I’ve spent the last year of me life tryin’ to be somethin’ I’m not. With the help of these!” He picks up the box of pills and waves them at Stuart.  
“What’s he talkin’ about?” asks Rainie, leaning up against the kitchen counter alongside Stuart. The kettle clicks off but is ignored. A cloud of steam billows around them both.  
“Don’t blame this on me,” says Stuart. “I was only lookin’ out for ya.”  
“Would someone PLEASE tell me what’s goin’ on,” says Rainie. “I’m clearly missin’ somethin’ here.”  
“It don’t matter,” says Stuart.  
“It DOES matter!” insists Callum. He turns to Rainie, taking a deep breath. “Before I got married I ‘ad an affair.”  
Her eyes widen. “Didn’t think you was the sort, Cal.”  
“I fell in love,” he continues. Stuart snorts dismissively. “I fell in love with someone who weren’t Whit.”  
“He messed around, he means,” says Stuart.  
“No!” Callum slams his hands down on the table. “I am sick of you playin’ this down, Stuart. It meant somethin’! It meant a hell of a lot to me, and you act like it was nothin’ and I was just supposed to forget it ever happened. Well I couldn’t, OK? I tied meself in knots tryin’ to forget. I made meself ill. And I still couldn’t forget!”  
“Who d’ya have the affair with?” asks Rainie, her eyes still wide with curiosity.  
“Don’t matter,” insists Stuart. “It’s in the past.”  
Callum turns his gaze back to him again. “Stop it Stuart! Stop doin’ that!”  
Rainie shifts position and folds her arms. “Excuse me! Who d’ya have an affair with, Cal?”  
Callum glares defiantly at Stuart. He sits back in his chair and maintains eye contact with him. For once, he doesn’t feel panicky. A serene calm descends over him. “Ben,” he says quietly. “His name was Ben.”  
He’s never known Rainie be speechless before. She opens her mouth and then shuts it again, and glances from him to Stuart as if she suspects they’re playing a practical joke on her.  
Stuart is shaking his head. “I can’t help ya bruv. If yer gonna go blabbin’ it to everyone, I can’t help ya. You’ll never get Whit back. She’s such a lovely girl an’ - ”  
“Don’t you get it?” shouts Callum. “I don’t want her back. I don’t care who knows about me!” He sighs, and makes a throwaway gesture with his hands. “Let’s face it, Ben don’t want me anymore anyway, so it’s all academic, ain’t it?”  
Stuart glares at hm. “You’ve bin in touch with that- ?”  
“Ben! His name’s Ben. And you don’t get to call him anythin’ else anymore, Stu.”  
“Is that why you an’ Whit have split up? You bin messin’ around with him again?”  
No, I ain’t bin ‘messin’ around’ with him. We ran into each other at the hospital.”  
“And you decided to end things with Whit?”  
Callum sighs in frustration. “No, that ain’t how it happened.”  
Rainie has been looking from one to the other of them like she’s watching a game of tennis. Now she seems to have found her voice again. “The way I see it, right?” she begins.  
“I don’t care how you see it, Rainie,” says Callum, at the same time as Stuart says “Not now, Rain, eh?”  
“No, no! The way I see it, there ain’t no point gettin’ bent out of shape cos yer little brother’s split up with his wife, is there? He likes cock. There ain’t nothin’ gonna change that, is there?”  
Stuart and Callum both stare at her, aghast.  
“Un-believable!” says Callum, sitting back and folding his arms.

By the time they’ve finished lunch later that day Callum has to get some air. He’s sick of Rainie looking at him like he’s some fascinating new specimen in a zoo, and Stuart treating him like someone’s died. He heads out for a walk, not knowing where he’s going, and ends up trekking briskly along the canal for over an hour, before he stops off at a café for cake and coffee. If he’s honest with himself he could get used to this, pleasing himself what he does; being himself again, after a year of trying to fit in with what he thought everyone else wanted. It feels like his shoulders are ten tonnes lighter. Telling Rainie about himself hadn’t felt so bad. He hadn’t had a panic attack; she hadn’t recoiled in horror, and the world hadn’t exploded, so maybe, given time, he can be the person he wants to be.  
He knows who he wants to be, but he also knows who he wants, and that part of the equation doesn’t sound like it’s going to be so easy to solve. He’s not had much of a chance to reflect on the text messages he’d exchanged with Ben, but it sounds worryingly like Ben has moved on. He stares into space, once again thinking of all the times they’d shared. Ben can’t be so far out of reach that he’ll never get him back, surely? He’ll just have to go with the friends thing for now; make Ben see that he really has changed, and then see what happens.  
His phone pings with an incoming text. He grabs it eagerly, but it’s just Stuart.  
“You OK bruv? You ain’t done nothing stupid, have you?”  
Callum sighs, tempted to ignore it, but then a grin spreads across his face and he texts back, “Not unless you count having chocolate cake instead of lemon drizzle.”  
The reply is almost instantaneous. “Is that gay code for s/thing?”  
He rolls his eyes, and then sends back a suitable emoji.

It’s almost dark when he gets back to the Square. There’s a light on in the car lot. He walks past, and then slows down, debating whether he should go in. This is the new, assertive Callum, and that Callum would go in, so he retraces his steps and taps on the door, then pokes his head in.  
“Y’alright?”  
Ben is hunched over the desk with papers lying everywhere and a pen in his mouth as he adds up figures on a calculator. He glances up empty-eyed, and then sits to attention when he realises who his visitor is.  
“Blimey, if it ain’t the one that got away! What you doin’ round here? Come to see yer charmer of a brother?”  
“Sort of,” says Callum, edging in through the door. “Am I disturbin’ ya?”  
Ben throws his pen down and leans back in his chair. “No no, not at all. In fact, you might just have saved me from the crushing boredom of monthly accounts.” He stretches, his shirt riding up, and indicates the chair in front of the desk.  
Callum crosses to sit in it. “Bit different to kitchen fittin’” he says, waving his hand over the paperwork.  
“Sure is,” says Ben. “Work colleagues is better, too.”  
Callum frowns. “You ain’t got any…ah!” He realises too late what Ben had meant. Ben’s grinning at how slow on the uptake he’d been, and Callum’s momentarily blown away at how much he’s missed him, his cheeky grin and his sarky humour.  
“Does the lovely Whitney realise you’ve popped in to see yer ex?” asks Ben. “Or she think you’ve popped down the shop for a pint of milk and a copy of Attitude?”  
He’s clearly pleased with his quip, but the smile on his face fades as he sees that Callum’s not laughing along. “What?”  
Callum picks at the edge of the desk with his fingernail. “We, uh…we split up.” He glances up and sees a momentary look of surprise on Ben’s face, before he schools his features into blank indifference.  
“How come?”  
Callum does not want to mention the note, for a number of reasons. He shrugs. “Don’t matter.”  
“And when was this?” asks Ben in a guarded tone.  
Callum huffs a laugh. “Yesterday.”  
“Blimey,” says Ben.  
“Yeah, blimey.”  
Ben casts a scrutinising eye over him. “For good?” He shifts awkwardly in his seat. “I mean, how are ya? You must be upset, yeah?”  
“Relieved, more than anythin’” says Callum. He thinks maybe that sounds a bit harsh, so he qualifies his statement. “I mean, Whit’s lovely. I’ll always love her, but it just weren’t workin’.”  
“On account of the whole…” Ben waves his hands around in the air. “…both likin’ cock thing, yeah?”  
Callum shakes his head in mock despair. “Don’t you start! That’s pretty much what Rainie said earlier.”  
Ben’s eyes widen. “You told someone? Blimey, you are bombin’ out of that closet, ain’t ya Cal?”  
“Shut up!”  
They grin at each other, and Callum starts to wonder if everything’s going to be OK. Then Ben’s mobile pings, and he instantly looks guilty. He shoves it underneath a pile of papers.  
“Ain’t you gonna answer that?” asks Callum.  
“Not right now,” says Ben, his gaze flickering away from Callum’s.  
Callum is confused, but then the penny drops and his guts twist. “Oh. What’s his name?”  
“Not sure,” says Ben, narrowing his eyes as if he can avoid Callum’s gaze that way. “He um…he’s quite a new friend.”  
“Right. ‘New’ like twenty minutes ago?” asks Callum bitterly.  
“More like ten, but…” Ben fishes out the phone from its hiding place and glances quickly at the screen.  
“Right, well, I’ll get out yer hair then,” says Callum, pushing his chair back and standing up. He knows he sounds petulant, but he can’t help it.  
“You don’t get to be jealous, Cal,” says Ben, in an echo of a previous conversation they’d had. On that occasion, he was right that Callum had had no reason to be jealous. He thinks he has every reason this time though.  
Ben stands up too, and comes round to his side of the desk. “Listen,” he says in a softer voice. “I’m sorry. About you and Whitney.” He gathers Callum into a hug, and Callum pulls him in tight, clinging to him. “I’m here for ya. As a friend. I’m also an accredited tour guide in the world of cock, so you know, anytime ya want some advice, or a wingman maybe...”  
“Stop sayin’ that word,” says Callum, stifling a sob. He covers it up with a half-hearted laugh, and steps back from Ben, resisting the urge to bury his face in his neck. “I’ll let ya get on. Yer new mate’ll be waiting.”

He’s missed his chance. Ben’s well and truly moved on. As he trudges back to Stuart’s his head is full of images of Ben with another man. Is he as gentle and caring as he had been with Callum? Or does he enjoy the experience much more with someone who actually knows what they’re doing, rather than an idiotic closet case who needed to be shown everything?  
“Blimey,” says Rainie when he pokes his head into the living room where she’s watching Antiques Roadshow on her own. “Someone died? Oh – I forgot. Your marriage died, didn’t it?”  
He glares at her, and she laughs. “I’m only tryin’ to get ya to lighten up, Cal. Come and sit with me.”  
Despite himself, he does as she tells him and sits beside her on the couch. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now.  
“Stu’s getting’ ready and then we’re poppin’ over the Vic for a pint. You can come if ya want.”  
“Yeah, maybe.”  
She nudges him in the ribs. “Might be some hot totty over there.”  
“What? At the Vic?” asks Callum, feigning sarcasm. More to the point, Ben might be over there. With his ‘friend’.  
“Nah, you’re right. ‘S more likely to be Patrick groovin’ away to a bit of lovers’ rock – and no one needs to see that.”  
They sit in silence as a punter on the telly is told their vintage Toby jug might fetch eighty quid.  
“Ha, look at her face! She was expectin’ much more than that,” says Rainie. “You could tell by the fake surprise. She thought he was gonna tell her it was worth eight hundred.”  
“It is pretty ugly though, to be fair,” says Callum.  
She turns to look at him. “Your bloke a looker, was he? Or was he a bit of a Toby jug too?”  
He rolls his eyes. “Subtle, Rain.”  
“Well?”  
“He was…” How to describe Ben? “He ain’t conventionally good lookin’, I s’pose. He were good lookin’ to me though. He IS good lookin’ to me.”  
“Well they say beauty’s in the eye of the beholder.” She leaves it for a beat, and then asks, “He from round here then?”  
“Yeah. I just bin to see ‘im.”  
“Yeah? You two back on then?”  
He feels again the blow to his guts when he realised Ben was planning a hook-up. “Nah,” he says sadly. “He’s moved on, I think.”  
“Well he’s an idiot then, ain’t he? Yer a catch, Cal. You’ll find someone else.”  
He huffs out a humourless laugh. “Don’t think I want anyone else.”  
“C’mon, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, ain’t it? What d’you go for?”  
“Huh?”  
“What type d’you go for? Tall? Short? Hairy? Smooth? Big c - ”  
Callum wants the living room floor to open up and swallow him. “Oh my god! Would you shut up Rainie?”  
“There’s no need to be shy. It’s just sex, ain’t it?” She nudges him in the ribs again. “If you’re movin’ back in I’ll have someone to share war stories with. Shall I tell you what I really like? That moment when – ”  
“Stuart! Stuart!” Callum puts his hands over his ears. “I ain’t listening. I do NOT wanna know about what you do with my brother, Rainie.”  
She guffaws. “Got you out of yer bad mood though, didn’t I?”  
“What’s all the noise?” asks Stuart, appearing in the doorway.  
“Stu, please take Rainie to the Vic,” says Callum. “Right now!”  
He sees them exchange a look, and then Rainie stands up. “Right, well I’ll go and get ‘em in. Stuart’s got somethin’ he needs to do here first, don’t ya babe?”  
“Uh, yeah,” says Stuart, sounding uncertain. He takes Rainie’s place on the couch and rubs his hands over his jeans.  
“See ya later,” says Rainie.  
After the front door’s slammed behind her there’s silence. Callum looks at Stuart expectantly.  
“Uh right, bruv. Well, see the thing is…” Stuart shifts round to face Callum, looking earnest. “I never realised you was gettin’ in such a state about all this.” He huffs out a laugh. “I mean, I’ll never understand what you see in blokes; never will get it, but that don’t matter, does it? It’s about what’s right for you. An’ if you have to take pills to keep you on the straight and narrow, so to speak, well… that ain’t right, is it? I shouldn’ta interfered, forcin’ you into something ya didn’t want.”  
Callum can see he’s struggling, but he can also see how hard he’s trying, and he’s touched. “Stu, it’s - ”  
Stuart holds up a hand to silence him. “No, no, let me say me piece, Cal. You’re me brother, and I only want you to be happy. And if that means welcoming Ben Mitchell into the family well…” He looks vaguely nauseous as he says it but ploughs on manfully, nodding his head. “So be it.”  
Callum’s not entirely sure of the sincerity of that last sentence, but he appreciates the sentiment. It seems Stuart’s support for him and Ben won’t have to be tested in any case. He heaves out a sigh. “Ben’s… I think Ben’s moved on. He don’t want me no more, so -”  
“He what?” asks Stuart in a foreboding tone. “You want me to go an’ have a word with ‘im?” He starts to stand up, but Callum pulls him back by his arm.  
“What was that about not interferin’ Stu? Look I’m glad I’ve got yer support, but I can fight me own battles. Find me own bloke, yeah? Not yet, at any rate. I’ve gotta get over Whit first, but when the time’s right, well, I don’t need big brother settin’ me up with anyone, alright?” An alarming thought strikes him. “Or big brother’s girlfriend, OK?”  
“OK,” Stuart holds his hands up in a placatory gesture. “Whatever ya do’s alright with me, bruv. Just find a bloke who treats ya right, OK?” He stands up, and beckons to Callum to join him, then envelopes him in a massive hug.  
As they pull apart, he says, “You comin’ over the Vic with us?”  
Callum can feel the emotion of the last two days catching up with him, not to mention last night’s lack of sleep. “Nah,” he says. “Think I’ll maybe have a bath and an early night. Think I wanna be on me own right now.”  
“Right you are,” says Stuart. “Just remember bruv. You are loved.”  
Callum smiles sadly at him. “I know, Stu. I know.” As Stuart heads off to the Vic and he’s left alone, Callum can’t help but think of the one person he wants to love him.

TWENTY  
It’s funny. Now that he’s beginning to tell people about himself (he counts Rainie as the first in a long line) he feels differently about himself, too. He identifies differently. He’s no longer Callum Highway, married man. Now he’s Callum Highway, gay man – and the world still hasn’t exploded.  
He finds himself eyeing up men on the bus and at work, assessing their qualities in comparison to his own particular preferences. He finds he has a type: short, very straight-acting and unconventionally beautiful. A scar or a wonky nose, for him, will tip a bloke over from unremarkable to fanciable in the blink of an eye. He wonders if that makes him even more gay, off-the-scale gay – not fancying pretty boys but lusting after ‘real’ men. Not that he’d do anything about it anyway. Not yet, at any rate. Everything’s still too raw with Whit, but he thinks there might come a day very soon when he will.  
His new-found confidence is spilling over into his everyday life, too. He’s always been ‘good old Callum’, willing to fit in with what everyone else wants, but now, for example, when the other porters at work assume he’ll wait until last for his lunch break, some days he insists on having it at one instead of starving for two hours and going at three like he always used to.  
It secretly thrills him, that he has all these thoughts and feelings inside that no one else would even guess at. No one, that is, but Daphne on reception. The next time they’re in together she beckons him over.  
“So, I’ve tried really hard not to ask, but you gotta tell me. Who was that bloke?”  
“What bloke, Daph?” he asks, playing dumb.  
“You know what bloke.” She waves a hand at him. “Short, sassy, lots of attitude. Left his number.”  
He pretends to consider, smiling gently at the description of Ben. “Nah, no idea.”  
She groans in frustration. “You know! He left his number. He’d have jumped over the desk and grabbed me by the throat if I’d refused to take it for ya, he was that keen for you to have it.”  
“Was he now?” asks Callum. “That’s good to know.” He sees the naked interest on her face, and relents. “OK, he was my ex.” He rolls the words around on his tongue a bit. It feels good to openly acknowledge what Ben means to him. “Is my ex.”  
Daphne’s eyes widen. “Seriously? You..?” For once, he seems to have knocked all the stuffing out of her. “Well I never.” Her face blooms with renewed curiosity. “But you’re married, ain’t you? And why’s he leavin’ you his number if he’s an ex?”  
Callum shrugs, a mysterious smile on his face. “Who knows?”  
She folds her arms and looks him up and down. “Callum Highway, you’re a dark horse, ain’t ya?”

Ben might have left his number and they might have exchanged a few texts, but he seems to be very backward in coming forward. So far he hasn’t initiated much contact, but it doesn’t matter anyway. Once Callum had got over his initial despair at the prospect of Ben hooking up with guys on Grindr he’d given himself a good talking to and decided that he was going to have to be the one to do the chasing. He knows he’s given Ben cause to doubt his feelings in the past, but he’s just going to have to put in the work to convince him that he’s sure of who he is and what he wants. The one thing he’s got in his favour over these Grindr guys is that he and Ben have shared more than just a quick bunk up. He hopes that’s going to be enough. He hopes it meant as much to Ben as it does to him.  
One person who does initiate contact is Martin Fowler. Callum vaguely remembers Stuart telling him the gang were all working away somewhere near Liverpool that week. Callum’s in the canteen finishing up beans on toast when he receives a text from him: Stuart told me your news. Hope all OK. You’ll be fine. Been in touch with Ben? Martin.  
He texts back: Yeah, but he don’t wanna know.  
The reply from Martin is swift and unequivocal: He’s an idiot.  
Ten minutes later Callum receives a text from Ben: Why have I just got a text off Martin Fowler telling me I’m an idiot?!  
Callum smiles, and sends back, No idea. You tried asking him? By the way, what you doing on Friday? Want to meet up? Or you got plans with your new ‘friend’?  
The reply comes nearly a quarter of an hour later. He just said I ought to know why..? Tubbs also now texted telling me I’m an idiot, WTF? New friend was a one-time thing. You looking for a wingman?  
Callum rolls his eyes. Either Ben is seriously obtuse, or there’s something going on for him that Callum can’t figure out. He types out a reply. No to wingman. Yes to drinks with a mate.  
OK, I can do matey drinks.

Callum dresses with extra care that Friday night, humming Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered to himself. It feels strange to be dressing up to impress another man but he kind of likes the feeling. He remembers when he’d let Ben tag along on his trip to the cinema in Norwich, and worried that Ben was doing exactly that – dressing to impress, thinking he might somehow stand a chance with Callum. How things have changed! He’s only glad Stuart hasn’t yet got back from Liverpool as he sets out to meet up with Ben. It was bad enough Rainie passing comments on his shirt and his aftershave and telling him to text her if he was going to be staying out all night, he didn’t need Stu fussing too. He’s beginning to feel like Rainie might be the mum he’s never had. In a foulmouthed, ‘let’s share information about our sex lives’, totally dysfunctional kind of way.  
He’s arranged to meet Ben at the Albert, and he gets there right on time. Despite his best intentions he still feels nervous about going into a gay club on his own. It’s not something he’s ever done before and he feels self-conscious, so he hangs around just across the road waiting for Ben to appear. While he waits he wonders what Whit’s up to that evening. He hopes she’s going out and having some fun with friends who’ll look out for her.  
He’s still across the road from the Albert fifteen minutes later and beginning to think that Ben’s either inside already, or he’s stood him up. Reluctantly he crosses the road, and steps aside to let a drunk bloke stagger past him before he raises his hand to push open the door. At that point, he feels a tug on his sleeve and almost laughs in relief as Ben’s suddenly there, apologising for being late and looking slightly dishevelled. Not looking like he’s made an effort at all.  
“Thought I was gonna miss ya. I ‘ad a punter last thing and he just would not go away.” Ben pushes the door open and leads the way into the Albert without a second thought. “Thought I was gonna have to give him the bleedin’ car just to get rid of him.”  
As they approach the bar, he glances sidelong at Callum. “Alright?”  
Callum is suddenly feeling a bit overwhelmed. Being gay in theory is all well and good, but being gay in practice, standing in a room full of other gay people, is a bit different. “Yeah,” he says, then realises Ben won’t have heard him over the sound of the music. “I’m OK,” he shouts.  
Ben looks like he doesn’t believe him. “Go and find us a table, I’ll get the drinks in.”  
Callum would much rather stay right next to him, in relative safety, but he scolds himself for being an idiot and crosses to bag one of the few remaining tables. He watches Ben from afar as he places his drinks order and nods a greeting to a couple of familiar faces. He looks so self-assured. Callum can’t imagine there was ever a time when Ben was struggling with coming out, but he guesses he must have done. He can only hope he looks just as confident and at ease one day. He wonders if he would have chosen Ben if he’d been seeing him like this for the first time, without knowing anything about him. He thinks he probably would. There’s something about Ben’s swaggering confidence that draws him in.  
Ben brings the drinks over and as he sets Callum’s beer down in front of him he says into his ear, “Relax Cal. The gays can smell the fear.”  
He winks as he bypasses the chair next to Callum and sits on the opposite side of the table, facing him. Callum ignores the stab of disappointment he feels. It’s difficult to be near Ben and not want to touch him. Callum’s brain is falling into the old established patterns of being with him, but he can’t see that Ben’s interested in the slightest.  
“So, your Stuart bayin’ for me blood, is he?” asks Ben.  
He takes a sip of his beer and Callum watches, mesmerised, as his tongue darts out to catch the froth from his upper lip. “Huh?”  
“Stuart. He still reckons I turned ya, does he?” Ben’s looking around the room as he speaks, not focussing on Callum at all.  
“Uh, no,” says Callum. “He’s tryin’ his best with all this.” He laughs, thinking Ben might share the joke. “He even said if he had to welcome you into the Highway family, then he’d deal with it.”  
“Blimey,” says Ben. “Good job that ain’t gonna happen, ain’t it? Imagine!”  
Callum is crestfallen. How can Ben have gone from that soft, loving bloke in Manchester who held his hand and rested his head on his shoulder, to this brittle, sarcastic man who can’t even be bothered to look him in the eye?  
He tries one last time. “So…” he shrugs. “I’m single.”  
“You are,” says Ben. He spreads his arms to indicate the entire club. “And look at this world of possibilities that’s opened up for ya.”  
Callum frowns.  
“What?” asks Ben. He fixes Callum with a cool gaze. “You’ve gotta get a bit of experience, Cal, work out what ya like.”  
Callum feels like he could weep. “What if I already know what I like?”  
“You don’t,” says Ben, in a knowing voice. “Trust me, you have no idea. You wouldn’t go into a shop and buy the first pair of trousers you saw, would ya? You’d try some on, get a feel for ‘em. Work out which ones fit ya best.” He sits forward, warming to his theme. “That’s what you gotta do with blokes, Cal. Don’t just go with the first one ya see. Put it about a bit.”  
Callum sighs and takes a long draught of his beer. It’s a lost cause. Ben is not interested in the slightest. Maybe he’s right, maybe Callum should spread his wings a bit. “Is that what ya want me to do?” he asks.  
“It ain’t about what I want, is it?” asks Ben, running a finger around the rim of his glass, his eyes watching his actions intently. “It’s about what’s good for ya. Live a little, Cal. You’ve just escaped a fate worse than death, so just have a bit of fun.”  
Callum resents the way Ben’s just referred to Whitney and marriage. “It weren’t Whit’s fault,” he says. “She weren’t a fate worse than death. She just weren’t right for me.”  
Ben shrugs. “Whatever.”  
They’re interrupted by one of the bar staff coming over to their table and tapping Callum on the shoulder. He’s carrying another pint of beer, which he sets down on the table in front of him. “Compliments of the man at the bar” he says.  
Callum blushes and turns to look at the bloke he’s pointing out. He’s not bad-looking. Not exactly what Callum thinks is his type, but not bad-looking at all. Tall and dark, smiling wide, maybe a few years older than Callum.  
“Blimey, didn’t take ya long,” says Ben. “Knew you’d be beatin’ ‘em off with a stick.”  
He tilts his chin in the direction of the bloke, rolling his eyes at Callum’s cluelessness. “Go and talk to him. Go on.”  
“But I - ” Callum wants to say that he doesn’t want to leave Ben, but the younger man waves away his concerns. “Go!”  
The walk across to the bar feels like one of the longest Callum’s ever attempted. The bloke is assessing him as he approaches, eyeing him up with a glint in his eye. Callum tries to avoid eye contact until he really can’t help it any longer. “Uh, thanks,” he says, as he reaches him. He gestures behind himself. “For the drink.”  
“You’re very welcome,” says the bloke. He’s got a refined accent, not all rough and east end like Callum’s. “Mark.” He holds his hand out to shake Callum’s.  
“Callum,” says Callum. He feels like a prey animal, more vulnerable than he’s ever felt in his life, but there’s something about being picked out by this man that arouses him, too. He feels he needs to put the bloke – Mark – straight, though. “Listen, thanks for the drink - ”  
“You already said that,” says the bloke in a flirty tone.  
“Yeah. Um, but what I meant to say. Add. Was that I ain’t lookin’ for a hook-up. I mean, I don’t know if that’s what you was hopin’ for - ”  
The bloke steps close and puts his mouth next to his ear. “I’m not sure I know what I was hoping for, Callum. Just the company of a cute guy, really.”  
“Uh, OK,” says Callum, flustered at the sensation of the bloke’s breath on his jaw. “Cos, I mean, I kind of wanna get to know someone before I sleep with ‘em.”  
The bloke pulls back a bit. He’s smiling in a kindly way, but Callum senses that he’s also finding him highly amusing. He feels like an idiot. He was never very good at flirting with women; to try and flirt with blokes is a whole other set of challenges, and he doesn’t even know where to start.  
“That’s very refreshing, Callum,” says the bloke. “So many men treat this place like a meat market.” Callum interprets the comment as a dig at Ben, but that’s ridiculous. The bloke’s never even met him. Callum’s just feeling over-protective.  
“I would suggest a threesome with your mate,” continues the bloke, as if Callum’s thought has somehow brought Ben to his attention. “But right now he’s looking like he’d bite my dick off as soon as look at me.”  
Callum blushes and stares across at Ben. He’s got his hardman stare on, but he glances away as soon as he realises Callum’s looking at him. A wave of wretchedness washes over Callum. This isn’t what he wants at all. He thought life would be easier once he started to come out. He didn’t think he’d feel as miserable as he had when he was married.  
“Listen,” says the bloke. “Will you be in here again next week?”  
“Uh, maybe. Not sure.” says Callum, turning back to him.  
“Well I’ll look out for you just in case. Make a point of getting to know you better. If that’s OK with you?”  
“Yeah, yeah. Course.”  
“OK, well I’m going to make a move, and your little friend’s looking lonely, so you head on back and I’ll look out for you next time.”  
The bloke pulls him in with a hand on his hip and plants a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth, then makes his way through the crowd towards the exit.  
Callum takes a shuddering breath and stares after him, then sets off back to Ben.  
The younger man is staring down into his pint as Callum approaches, but he looks up with the brightest of smiles when Callum pulls out his chair to sit down again. “You don’t waste time, do ya?” he asks. “First time out on the scene and you’ve pulled within half an hour. Must be a world record.”  
“Shut up,” says Callum, embarrassed.  
“You made plans with ‘im?” asks Ben, regarding him through narrowed eyes.  
“Not really,” says Callum. “He said he might see me in here next week, but I don’t think I’ll bother, to be honest. It ain’t what I want.”  
Ben is still giving him an appraising look.  
“What?”  
“You sure about this, Cal?”  
“About what?”  
“The whole,” Ben waves his hand around. “ ‘bein’ gay’ thing. Cos you look uncomfortable as hell.”  
Callum grimaces, unable to give voice to the emotions that are coursing through him at that moment.  
“I knew it!” says Ben. “You ain’t ready, are ya? Yer freakin’ out.”  
“I ain’t freakin’ out,” says Callum, although in truth he can feel the subtle stirrings of another panic attack, and suddenly the crowd and the music are all too much for him. “Listen,” he says. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for comin’ out with me. I’m sorry.”  
Ben’s face creases into a frown, but before he can speak Callum has pushed his chair back and is striding away across the club to the exit. Once outside, he leans up against the wall opposite and takes a few deep breaths.  
It takes him a while to calm down. He stands for a while, appreciating the cold night air and stilling his racing thoughts. In all the time he’s there, Ben doesn’t come out of the club. He must have stayed on to pull.  
Callum wanders away up the road towards Stuart’s, a bitter taste in his mouth and a voice in his head that tells him he’s an idiot. Everything Stuart told him about Ben is true.  
In that moment, he wants Whitney more than he’s ever wanted her before. He just wants to go back to a normal, safe life.

When he gets back to Stuart’s Rainie is just putting a few beers in the fridge in readiness for Stuart returning from work.  
“You’re back early!”  
“Yeah, decided to call it a night,” says Callum.  
Rainie gives him a quizzical look. “You goin’ back in the closet, Cal?”  
“No,” he says, irritated with how his sex life suddenly seems to be everyone’s business. “I pulled, actually. Just didn’t fancy it. Not tonight.”  
“Ooh, look at you, turnin’ men down left right and centre!”  
Callum flops down at the kitchen table and puts his head in his hands. “I dunno, Rain. I thought life would get easier once I was out.”  
“What’s makin’ it difficult?”  
He sits back in his chair and fixes her with a stare.  
“Oh,” she says, cottoning on. “Ben?”  
“Ben,” he agrees.  
“Why? What’s he done?”  
“Nothin’. Absolutely nothin’, and that’s the problem. He didn’t bat an eye when that bloke tried to chat me up.” He sighs. “I thought we had somethin’. Back when we was workin’ together, we definitely had somethin’ but now he just don’t wanna know. I don’t understand what’s changed.”  
“P’raps he gets off on the chase,” suggested Rainie. “Once yer available, he loses interest.”  
“Yeah, I’m beginnin’ to think you might be right,” sighs Callum.  
She takes pity at his despondent tone. “Listen, why don’t ya forget about ‘im and go out with this other bloke who’s interested? You ain’t got anythin’ to lose, have ya? You don’t have to marry him, just get to know ‘im a bit.”  
He glares at her mention of marriage, and she holds her hands up in apology. “You get his number?”  
“Nah, but he said he’d be there again next Friday.”  
“Right, well, me ‘n’ Stu are gonna be out – it’s our four-year anniversary so we’re goin’ for a slap-up meal. You could always bring him back here. “  
“Hmm, maybe,” says Callum. “I’ll think about it.”  
“Tell ya what,” she adds. “Make sure Ben’s there when you hook up with this bloke. Make him realise what he’s missing.”  
Callum grimaces. He’s not one for playing games.

As the week wears on, he debates whether or not to go back to the Albert on the Friday. By the Thursday, he’s pretty much convinced himself that he should. He can’t get hung up on Ben bloody Mitchell for the rest of his life. He needs to spread his wings, make the most of his new-found freedom to be what he wants to be, not moon around after the one man who definitely doesn’t want him.  
It does present him with a dilemma though. He’s still not confident enough to go to the Albert on his own, so he’s going to have to call on the support of the only other gay man he knows.  
He texts Ben in his lunch-hour. Fancy a drink again? Tomorrow night at the Albert?  
It’s a couple of hours before he receives a reply. You decided to put your big boy pants on and brave the gays again?  
He shakes his head in annoyance at the tone of Ben’s message. It’s the first one he’s received from him all week. After the way they parted company at the Albert last week, there’d been nothing. No concerned texts from Ben checking up on his wellbeing. To be honest, he’s getting a bit sick of Ben’s ‘I’m the gay expert and you’re the naïve newbie’ routine. He can’t help himself, he replies with, Thought I might see if Mark’s there. Fancy getting to know him a bit better.  
He receives a very non-committal OK in response.

By ten o’clock on the Friday evening he’s beginning to feel a bit stupid. He’d been nervous while he was getting ready, and still nervous as they settled in at a table with their drinks, but there’s been no sign of Mark all evening. Ben’s laying off the annoying ‘gay expert’ routine and they pass the time chatting easily, but the fact remains: the bloke Callum had counted on seeing hasn’t turned up.  
Ben’s just gone up to the bar to get more drinks when suddenly Callum feels a tap on his shoulder. It’s Mark. Callum has already drunk a lot that evening, he’s been so nervous, and he’s so relieved to see him that the welcome he gives him is probably a bit over the top.  
“You’re here! I thought you wasn’t comin’.”  
“Got stuck at work,” says Mark, sitting down in the chair beside him. “Glad you’re so pleased to see me though.”  
“I’ve had quite a bit to drink,” says Callum. Then he realises how that might have sounded. “Sorry! Sorry, I ain’t sayin’ I’m not glad to see ya. That’s not - ”  
Mark silences him with a hand on his knee. “It’s OK. I didn’t take offence.” He grins fondly at Callum. “You are even cuter than I remember.”  
Callum blushes hard.  
“Listen,” says Mark. “To be honest with you, I’m a bit shattered from work, so I thought I’d stop off for a quick pint, see if you were here and maybe set up a date. If you’re up for it? Yeah?”  
“Uh, yeah. I’d like that,” says Callum.  
At that moment Ben returns with their drinks. Glancing up, Callum sees him tilt his chin in the way that Callum’s learned means he’s feeling threatened. “Sorry, I didn’t realise we had company,” he says, staring hard at Mark.  
“Ben, this is Mark,” says Callum, waving his hand between them both. “Mark, Ben, my…uh…mate.”  
Mark holds out his hand to shake Ben’s, but Ben busies himself with placing the drinks on the table and pretending he hasn’t seen it. “You want my pint? I’ll go and get another one.”  
“No, no, I couldn’t possibly,” says Mark. “I tell you what Callum, come with me while I get myself one. We’ll give Ben here some space to himself while we get to know each other better.”  
They stand up and Mark grabs Callum’s elbow to guide him towards the bar. Callum resists the urge to look behind himself to check Ben’s OK. He’s just been given a very obvious but very graceful brush-off by Mark and Callum’s instinct is to rush to his defence. But, this is day one of moving on from Ben Mitchell, so Callum allows himself to be guided towards the bar. Ben can take care of himself.  
“So,” says Mark once he’s got himself a drink. “What’s the deal with you and the rottweiler back there?”  
Callum frowns, until he cottons on to who Mark’s referring to. “Ben? He’s…uh… I s’pose he’s me ex.”  
“You suppose?” asks Mark. “You don’t sound too sure.”  
“He IS me ex,” says Callum. “We had a very brief fling over a year ago, and we’re just mates now.” He’s suddenly struck by the truth of that statement. He’s blown the affair with Ben up into some huge life-altering romance, but in reality it was a very short fling before they both went their separate ways. “I’m just comin’ out of a marriage,” he adds. “To a woman.”  
“Ah,” says Mark.  
“That ain’t a problem, is it?” asks Callum.  
“No, no we’ve all been there,” says Mark, cryptically.  
“So what d’you do?” asks Callum. “Job-wise?”  
“I’m a solicitor,” says Mark.  
“I thought you might be somethin’ like that,” says Callum. “Yer very good with yer words.”  
“Oh yeah? Good with my words, am I?” asks Mark with a smirk. “That’s probably because I have a very talented tongue.”  
Callum hardly has time to blush at his innuendo, because the next thing he knows, Mark is pulling him close and kissing him.  
After the initial shock, Callum relaxes into it. It’s been so long since he kissed another man, but he remembers how much he loved feeling stubble against his mouth, even if he couldn’t admit it to himself at the time, and as he wraps his arms around Mark’s waist he’s reminded of holding Ben close and feeling his muscles flex beneath his hands.  
As they eventually pull apart, Mark gazes at him appreciatively. “You’re not so bad at that yourself, either.” He’s still holding Callum close. If Callum hadn’t sunk five pints that night, he might be feeling awkward about now, but he’s drunk so he goes with the flow. “How come someone like you hasn’t been snapped up already?” asks Mark.  
Callum shrugs. “I’m only just comin’ out, so…”  
Mark raises his eyebrows. “OK, so can I call first dibs please? What’re you doing tomorrow night?”  
“Uh, nothin?” says Callum, charmed by his enthusiasm.  
“OK, let me take you out to dinner. Give me your number and I’ll text you with the arrangements.”  
“OK,” says Callum, feeling like he’s being swept along by a tsunami.  
They swap numbers and then Mark kisses him again. “Right, I really don’t want to leave you, but I’ve got to get home and get some sleep, so I’ll be in touch tomorrow, yeah?”  
“Yeah, OK.”

After Mark’s taken his leave, Callum stays propped up against the bar for a few minutes. He feels like he’s just been at the centre of a whirlwind, but one thing he does know: he likes kissing blokes.  
He makes his way back over to Ben, who’s still sitting on his own and looking small, hunched over his pint and tracing patterns in the condensation rings on the table with his finger. He glances up as Callum sits down opposite him, and smiles. “Looked like you was really goin’ for it there, Cal. So, your big gay adventure begins.” The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.  
“Yeah,” says Callum. “He’s nice. We’re goin’ out for dinner tomorrow night.”  
“Good, I’m glad for ya,” says Ben, reaching across and clapping his hand on Callum’s arm. His touch burns. “You know what? You’ll soon be overtakin’ me in the gay experience stakes. I ain’t never had a boyfriend.” To Callum’s ears, he sounds a bit wistful. He stretches, and yawns. “Listen, I’m gonna make a move. I’m a bit knackered. You stayin’ on?”  
“Nah,” says Callum. “I’ll head off too.” He opens his mouth to ask Ben if he’s OK with Callum seeing other men, but then reminds himself that they don’t have a connection anymore. Ben would probably look at him as if he was daft and make a sarky comment.  
Once outside, they walk along in silence, and as they part company in the middle of the Square Ben pulls Callum in close for a hug, and whispers, “Night Cal. Sweet dreams.” Then he strides off towards home without a backward glance.  
Callum resists the urge to run after him. Ben doesn’t want him. Callum’s got a date with a man who does want him. Life is moving on.

He’d forgotten Stuart and Rainie would be out when he gets back. He wanders around the empty flat in a bit of a daze. He’s feeling too wired to go to bed yet, so he makes a drink and settles in front of the telly. There’s some horror film on Channel 4, but he’s so drunk he doesn’t jump at any of the scary bits. He just lets it all wash over him.  
He’s almost asleep when there’s a loud knock on the door.  
He gets up and slowly makes his way over to answer it. A second knock comes. Whoever’s there is clearly impatient. “Alright, alright” he calls. “I’m comin’.” He wonders if Stuart and Rainie are back early without their keys.  
“You forget - ?” he begins as he opens the door. The words die on his lips. It’s not Stuart and Rainie. It’s Ben.  
He’s looking nervous. He’s biting at a fingernail, one arm wrapped around his waist.  
“Don’t do it,” he says.  
Callum frowns. “What?”  
“Please don’t do it.” Ben steps inside the door, his eyes beseeching. “Don’t go on a date with that bloke.”  
Callum closes the door behind him, bemused. “Ben, what is goin’ on with you?”  
“I thought I could handle it,” says Ben, standing close and reaching out a hand to stroke Callum’s cheek. “I thought it would be best for ya, gettin’ a bit of experience, but I don’t want ya goin’ with other men. You’re mine.” He looks into Callum’s eyes and the intensity of his stare makes Callum shiver.  
Callum’s heart races. He’s waited so long to hear Ben say that. It’s all he’s ever wanted, but he remembers Rainie’s comment from last weekend. He takes a step back and pushes Ben’s hand away. “Ben, you only ever want me when I ain’t available.”  
“That ain’t true - ”  
“From where I’m standin’ it is.”  
Ben moves in close again, and toys with the lapels of Callum’s shirt. “I didn’t want ya to think you had to be with me, Cal. I wanted ya to put it about a bit, find out what ya liked. I mean, let’s face it, why would you wanna settle for me? I ain’t never had a boyfriend. I don’t even know if I’d be any good at it.”  
“You seemed pretty good at it when we was in Manchester,” says Callum.  
Ben smiles faintly, remembering. “Yeah, but what about when the honeymoon period wears off?” he asks worriedly. “I ain’t easy. I can be a stroppy little git at times.”  
“No! Really?” asks Callum, feigning surprise. He smiles fondly at Ben. “You think I don’t know that?” “Listen, idiot. I’ve always bin yours. There was never any doubt.” He slides his arms around Ben’s waist and pulls him close. “I always wanted ya, and there’s nothin’ you could ever do would change that.” He leans in and kisses him. “The first time I ever saw ya,” he says as he pulls back again, “I thought you was the sort to order a hit on anyone who looked at ya the wrong way. Turns out that kinda turns me on.”  
Ben grins, his old cheeky grin that Callum’s missed so much. “Yeah? The first time I saw you I wanted to jump yer bones. Turns out I still do.”  
“You’d better come in properly then,” says Callum, leading him by the hand towards the bedroom.  
“You know what’s the best thing about this?” asks Ben as Callum walks him towards his bed and then pushes him onto his back before straddling him.  
“No?” says Callum, his mind fogged by the sight of Ben spread out beneath him.  
“I get to have sex with you,” says Ben. “Which is amazing. But I also get to have breakfast with Stuart tomorrow mornin’.”  
Callum rolls his eyes and silences Ben with some very thorough kissing.

THREE WEEKS LATER  
“How on earth do you lose four girlfriends in two weeks?” asks Ben.  
He’s toying with his dessert spoon. They’ve all got together to celebrate Stuart making a surprise proposal to Rainie while they were marking their anniversary. Callum thinks the bigger surprise is that Rainie accepted him. Stuart’s made up, and has been walking round with a huge dopey grin on his face ever since. He’d hit upon the idea of getting most of the old gang together again for a meal, so Martin and Stacey are there, along with Tubbs minus any girlfriends at all, and Callum and Ben -although Stuart hadn’t actually invited him, but these days, wherever Callum goes, Ben goes. The restaurant they’re in is fancy, but Callum doesn’t mind. He doesn’t feel out of place. They’re all merry and loud; there are already three bottles of wine standing empty in the middle of the table.  
Prior to the evening, Callum had given Ben a long list of instructions on how not to wind Stuart up, until he’d realised that Ben was actually treating it as a primer. He swears he could actually see Ben logging each idea in his mind, so in the end he’d stopped giving him a list and instead threatened him with no sex for a month if he even so much as looked funny at Stuart.  
“It ain’t my fault,” says Tubbs, in answer to Ben’s question. “Two of them found out about each other and apparently now they’re best buddies. Another one went off with someone else, and the fourth decided she really wanted to go travellin’ in Australia. I mean, what’s that all about?”  
“No no! I can see where she’s comin’ from,” says Martin. “If I was goin’ out with ya I’d probably wanna move to the other side of the world, too.”  
“Aww, bless ‘im,” says Stacey. “So what you gonna do now, Tubbs? You on the look-out for someone else?  
“We know someone who’s lookin’, don’t we Cal?” asks Ben, with a sidelong look.  
“Ben - ” says Callum in a warning tone.  
“No no, I’m serious,” says Ben. “Might be just what Whit needs. A real confidence booster.”  
“Oh yeah. She pretty?” asks Tubbs.  
“Stunning,” answers Ben, before Callum can get a word in edgeways. He stares at Ben in disbelief.  
“She’s a lovely girl,” agrees Stuart.  
“Well, maybe you should give her me number,” says Tubbs.  
“Hmm, maybe,” says Callum, filing the idea away in his ‘never gonna happen’ folder.  
As they’re all ordering dessert, Rainie turns to Ben. “I’m so glad you ain’t a Toby jug, mate.”  
Ben looks at her, mystified, as Callum and Rainie exchange a grin over his head.  
“He certainly is not a Toby jug,” says Callum, reaching over and tangling his fingers with Ben’s on top of the table.  
Across the table, Stuart chokes on his wine.


End file.
